Bonds
by compy chompy
Summary: Jane and Rigsby get kidnapped. Takes place before episode 3x16. General Team Fic. Not Slash.
1. Chapter 1

**Bonds**

Summary: Jane and Rigsby get kidnapped. Takes place before episode 3x16.

Rated T. General team fic.

Disclaimer. – They are like little action figures that I don't own, but have the incisive need to play with. CBS owns them and no money is, was, or ever will be made from this.

I don't have a beta. So all mistakes are mine. I tried to keep them to a minimum. I hope.

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><p><strong>[Chapter 1]<strong>

He was a rock star.

He sang the last note of the hook and took a breath. The vibrations of the drums shook his seat. Each pluck of the bass flowed though him, while he tapped his fingers along the wood grain wheel to keep time. A grin spread across his face. Each guitar riff played lifted his spirits and he was ready to belt out the next set of lyrics.

He was hyped, ready take anything life threw at him.

The windows shook slightly from the vibrations of the Suburban's speakers. He was a rock star, the audience was himself and any vehicle who pulled up next to him at the stop light. It got him some giggles, snickers, and the occasional cheer, but he did not care.

Today was Friday, he had found the forty dollars he thought he lost, a wager won from Cho, and he had enough time to buy the team a fresh box of donuts from his favorite spot. His mouth watered at the thought, and their coffee wasn't half bad either.

Rigsby pulled into parking lot. The only space available was in the middle, providing him no shade from the blazing sun. It was only 8 something and it was already 85 degrees. Meteorologists were predicting record high heat and humidity. He took three steps away from the car and hurried for the bakery, trying to minimize the time between each not air conditioned place to the next. After a baker's dozen and a large coffee were purchased, he weaved between parked cars and parking lot traffic to get back to his vehicle.

It had only been a few minutes and the car was already an oven. Rigsby turned on the engine and let the ac hit him full blast. He sighed in relief. The heat didn't bother him, it was the humidity. His clothes were beginning to cling to him and he hated that feeling.

The band played, and he started another set for the audience as he sped down the I-5. The stereo shuffled the music in his play list from classic rock, to hip hop, to pop. He was about to sing the chorus to one of his favorite songs, when a light gray smoke came through the air conditioner's vents. He cut the band off, and heard a faint grinding sound coming from his car. The agent let out a swear and quickly pulled over to see what the problem was. He made it to the shoulder, then the car sputtered and died.

Rigsby fanned away the smoke that came from under his hood. He poked around the engine a bit, but there didn't seem to be anything wrong there. Looking underneath the car, he found leaking fluid. At first he thought it was water, condensation from the AC, but upon closer inspection it was a different color and had a slight sweet smell to it.

"Antifreeze..."

Rigsby sighed and pounded the car's roof once for good measure. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell as he absentmindedly kicked the gravel that covered the shoulder. The first call he made was for service.

The humidity blanketed him. He took a deep breath and loosened his tie, undid the top buttons on his dress shirt, and wished his hot coffee was iced instead. He snatched a donut from the box and began to chew.

After dialing another number he waited for the person on the other side to pick up. "Boss, it's me. I'm having car trouble. I called a tow truck and I'm waiting for it now. I just got the stupid thing serviced three days ago. I'm sorry. I'll catch a cab-"

"Hey!" A familiar blue Citroen pulled over onto the shoulder behind him. Jane got out of his car and waved. "You're leaking fluid there. You should probably check that."

"I know." Rigsby nodded a greeting and continued to talk on his cell phone. "Yes, that was him. Okay. Yeah. I'll tell him... The boss says you're late and you missed the mandatory meeting. Remember eight o'clock?"

"Tell her that meeting was a waste of time and if I didn't skip it, I wouldn't be able to drive you to work. So, it all works out," Jane smiled. "There's the tow truck."

"Boss, Jane said... Huh. Uh huh. Okay. I'll tell him. Yeah... Exactly how you said it? Uh. Okay. Hold on..." Rigsby pulled the phone from his ear and put his hand over the mic. "The boss says, 'Rigsby's a big boy and can get to work by himself and she was at that meeting with Bertram and she covered for you. so you owe...'"

"Tell Lisbon... Oooo donuts." Jane grabbed one out of the box.

"Someone called for service?" The tow truck driver interrupted. He wiped his hand on his navy colored coveralls before offering it out to the two. "The name is Randal. Hot enough for you fellas?"

"Eh, it could be worse. I could be at a meeting with stuck up bureaucrats telling me what i can and can't do instead of eating donuts. I'm Jane. He's Rigsby."

"The boss says you're an idiot. Also, we caught a case up in Tracy. She said get there quickly, but if you get a speeding ticket the bureau isn't paying for it." Rigsby added after he stuck the phone back in his pocket.

"Case? What are you guys detectives?" Randal asked as he hitched the SUV.

"We're state agents." Jane chuckled at the look Rigsby was giving him. "Okay fine, he's a state agent and I'm a consultant."

"State agents huh? Which agency? DOJ? CHP? Some of my friends are state agents."

"CBI." Rigsby answered proudly.

"California Bureau of Investigations. I have a buddy I served with who works for that agency."

"No kidding? Sorry, excuse me." Rigsby's phone rang again. He paced a few yards in front of the tow truck as he talked on his phone.

"I can fill that out for him." Jane reached for the paperwork that the tow truck driver was holding.

"Sure." the tow truck driver obliged.

"Our single homicide just turned into a double," Rigsby called to Jane.

Jane nodded and handed the clipboard back to the tow truck driver.

"Agent Rigsby, you don't have to follow me to the service station. You guys can get to it. I'll give you a call in a bit and we'll work out all the details," Randal told them.

"Don't I need to fill out some paperwork, or anything?"

"Your friend filled it out."

Jane grinned. "I was trying to save time. You were on the phone with Lisbon."

Rigsby reached for the clipboard and read all the information. Jane had filled it in completely and correctly, right down to the credit card number. He glanced over to Jane who had innocently shrugged.

"It's fine." He handed the clipboard back after signing on the x to authorize service.

Rigsby reached into the back seat and grabbed his over night bag and laptop. Jane on the other hand reached through the front passenger window and grabbed the box of donuts.

Once situated, they sped down the highway more than a couple miles over the speed limit.

"No music?" Rigsby projected over the rushing winds that came through the cars windows.

"Nah. I like to take in the sights and sounds as I drive. Put something in the player if you want."

Rigsby stared in awe. The car had an 8 track player. He hadn't seen one of these since he was young, while riding in his uncle's Cutlass.

"Wow."

"Came with the car."

"You never upgraded to something more recent?"

"My wife would joke about it. I saw no need. There are some cartridges in the glove compartment."

"Cartridges," Rigsby laughed. He grabbed a bright orange one and slapped it into the player.

Rigsby nodded his head to the beat. The rock star now had a back up signer.

They sang together as they sped down the highway. Three songs later the music became distorted, bleeding two different tracks together. Jane reached over and pulled the cartridge out of the player. The magnetic tape began to unravel and spill over onto the floor. He dropped it onto the floor board and left it there.

"Sorry. It tends to do that sometimes. Don't worry about it."

Rigsby reached for the dial and fiddled with the radio for a few minutes until he determined there was nothing worth listening to. Then he remembered about his iPod. He pressed the power button and was greeted by the battery icon. He smacked himself mentally for forgetting to charge the thing.

"Were are you going?" Rigsby looked up from the uncharged device as he felt the car slow down and turn abruptly. "We weren't suppose to get off the highway for another seven exits."

"Just testing a theory."

"What theory?"

"We'll see."

Jane began weaving through traffic and turning randomly at every other light and speeding past every yellow.

"Are we being tailed?"

"We'll see."

When he was finally the first person at the stoplight, Jane just sat there through two light cycles. The motorists behind him threw out angry curses and obscene gestures. Jane smiled and merrily waved at them as each drove past.

"Rigsby, we have a problem." Jane nodded towards the rear view.

There was a black Skylark still sitting there. Two men got out of the car with their guns drawn and headed toward the Citroen.

"I don't think they want to say hello."

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><p><strong>TBC<strong>


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer- They are like little action figures I do not own, but have the incisive need to play with. CBS owns them. Mr. Heller made them. No money is, was, or ever will be made from this.**

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><p><strong>[chapter 2]<strong>

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><p>The Citroen's left turning light rhythmically clicked as they sat in their lane. Jane was nervous, shifting slightly in his seat as he watched the rear view mirror, while Rigsby checked his weapon.<p>

"I am not backup," Jane stated, "I'll just wait right here."

"Sure," Rigsby nodded in agreement.

Sweat trickled down the nape of his neck as Rigsby stepped out of the car with his gun drawn. He cautiously approached the two men. One man held a shotgun, the other held a hand gun.

"CBI, drop your weapons." Rigsby commanded as he trained his weapon on the two.

"Rigsby, watch out!" Jane hollered out the window.

The man with the shotgun raised his gun and fired.

The deafening boom of the Mossburg resonated in their ears. The buckshot missed Rigsby, who dove for the asphalt when Jane yelled. Rigsby scurried to a nearby Civic for cover. The cars waiting at the stoplight sped off almost causing four car pile up.

"What'd you do that for?" The lanky one smacked the other guy in the head. "We weren't trying to make a scene."

"Do that again and I might shoot you instead," the other man warned. "All that driving in circles made me twitchy. We should have grabbed him at his house."

"Coulda, shoulda, woulda. Dumb ass, now we got to chase them," the lanky man retorted.

"Drop your weapons or I will shoot you!" Rigsby ordered. He took aim and fired a warning shot.

Jane pulled the phone from his pocket and dialed a familiar phone number. "Lisbon! We ran into slight issue. Yes, that is gunfire. Yes, help would be greatly appreciated. Quickly!"

The two men returned fire. One shot hit the drivers side mirror next to Jane. He jumped, and Jane's hands went up to cover his head. The phone bounced off the steering wheel and fell under the seat. A shotgun blast shattered the rear window and lodged itself in the passenger seat. Glass rained down on Rigsby as another shot shattered the window above him.

"Jane! Stay down!" Rigsby returned fire.

The Citroen took was taking fire. Jane flung the driver side door open in an attempt to escape. A spray of pellets hit the door's panel, then an on coming car almost took the door off. The consultant jumped back and cowered in his seat.

"Rigsby! Shoot the ovoid one!" Jane hollered.

"What?"

"The ovoid one!"

"What?"

"Humpty! The one on the left, looks like an egg. Short, pointy head, round body. Ridiculous comb over. The one with the shotgun."

"Why didn't you say the one with the shotgun?"

Rigsby took aim and fired off a few shots towards Humpty. One shattered the Skylark's passenger side window. The second, and third embedded themselves in the door, sending Humpty scrambling for cover.

"Jane stay down!"

"I'm trying."

Jane slid into the passenger seat and tried to exit that way. Rigsby ran towards him, but three shots from Lanky's Ruger flew past. One narrowly missed Jane's head, when he was about to jump out of the car. The other two shattered the tail light by Rigsby's neck when he reached out to to grab Jane. The two hastily retreated back.

"Idiot! Watch what you're doing we need him alive," Humpty yelled.

"Shut up! I know what I'm doing," Lanky shouted.

"Doesn't look like it from here," Humpty scoffed.

Rigsby let out a swear and fired two more shots. They did not have the tactical advantage. One, Jane was an untrained liability and pinned down. Two, his vest was in his overnight bag, with his extra clips. Three, they were in the middle of traffic. And four to the left of him was a playground. He could hear sirens in the background, but they sounded like they were more than a few minutes out. Most people had fled, abandoning their cars, but he thought he saw two people hiding behind the playground slides.

"Jane, stay down."

"I'm trying," Jane answered.

He winced and sank further into his seat as another shot whizzed by, cracking the windshield. The consultant peered cautiously out the driver side door. Rigsby was taking fire from his position, now behind a red Echo. He watch as Lanky motioned for Humpty to go right. The two men were trying to flank Rigsby.

Jane shifted the car into reverse and floored it. The Citroen smashed into the Skylark sending Lanky diving out of the way. Lanky bolted for the car, but Jane quickly shifted into first and the open passenger door clipped the tall man in leg.

The man howled in pain as he fell to the ground clutching his leg.

"I am not backup!" Jane swerved. He lost control of the car and sideswiped three parked cars before coming to a stop.

"Jane!"

"I'm okay," Jane mumbled, when he fell out of the Citroen. He waved Rigsby off, and staggered towards the row of parked cars for cover.

Rigsby scanned from left to right. In the commotion he lost sight of Humpty. Lanky on the other hand was still withering in pain on the ground.

"Gotcha!"

Rigsby whipped around. The last thing he saw was the butt of the Mossburg quickly approaching his face.

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><p>Spots filled his vision and everything was blurry and wavy. Rigsby tried to stand, but was knocked to the pavement.<p>

"Jane..."

"Uh, right here..." Jane answered.

Humpty hit Rigsby with the butt of the shotgun again, this time in the stomach, knocking the breath from his lungs. Instinctively, the agent curled into a ball face down, trying to protective himself.

"Just take both of them," Lanky commanded.

"But we only need him," Humpty answered.

"I said take them both."

"I can't watch both of them and drive."

"I've got an idea."

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><p><strong>TBC<strong>

**I don't think I've ever wrote an action sequence. How did I do?  
><strong>


	3. Chapter 3

****Disclaimer- They are like little action figures I do not own, but have the incisive need to play with. CBS owns them. Mr. Heller made them. No money is, was, or ever will be made from this.****

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><p><strong>[Chapter 3]<strong>

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><p>Bright orange evidence markers litered the ground as Lisbon made her way past the yellow crime scene tape. She surveyed the area. There were CBI Agents everywhere, along with CSIs, police, and news vans.<p>

"The first time this camera picks him up is here."

Lisbon overheard Van Pelt say to another agent as she walked past.

"The uniqueness of Jane's car makes it easy to spot him in the traffic cams," Grace continued to the Agent, as they huddled over her laptop. She pointed to the screen. "See there, there, and there."

"He made four lefts. They knew they were being followed," the agent named Bailey nodded. "I'm going to see if I can get any of the surveillance video from the area. If we can get a license plate of the car following them..."

"I'm going to work with this and see if I can get anything useable here," Grace said.

Lisbon continued on trying to absorb as much information as she could. She heard most of the altercation, though somewhat muffled from Jane's phone. What she heard was bad, to see the aftermath was worse. The Citroen was a little worse for wear, the bumper was smashed and most of the windows were gone, with a few bullet holes here and there. They did not go quietly. The feeling of anger, worry and dread rose as she continued on her tour of the scene.

"Geez, how many times is that man gonna get kidnapped? Didn't he get kidnapped a month ago? Someone should plant a tracking device on his ass..." Another Agent said as he scratched his head.

"Really?" An officer asked.

"Yeah, I think Jane gets kidnapped every other week or something. There was that time at the fruit stand," The Agent stared upward trying to recall. He counted off on his fingers each incident. "Then there was the time at the taco stand-"

"Now is not the time for this!" Lisbon snapped at the two.

"Sorry," the agent blushed.

"Did you find anything useful yet?" Lisbon asked.

"Yes ma'am," The agent named Garrison offered. "Black. Older model Buick Skylark. Sedan. California plates, I've got a partial, Victor-Nine and the last letter is Ida"

"It's a start," Lisbon told the young agent.

"Call the next witness," Garrison told the officer.

"You got it," The officer waved the next person over.

She shook her head and kept walking. There were no large pools of blood on the ground, just a lot of broken glass and debris. The initial reports indicated, that it could have been worse. Only minor injuries were reported and a lot of property damage, mostly cars caught in the crossfire.

The coroner's van was no where to be seen. Lisbon took that as a good sign.

"Yes Mr. Mayor, I have every available Agent on this case, and the FBI has been called. I understand sir," Bertram spoke into his bluetooth, "Yes, we have to let the criminals know that this will not be tolerated. Brenda is here with me. We are preparing a statement for the press..."

"Bailey! Coordinate with CHP. Have them set up a roadblock on all major highways within a 50 mile radius," Hightower barked out commands. "Garrison! Did you finish taking the witness statements yet? Get me something I can use."

"Jane described one of them," Lisbon told Bertram and Hightower. "He said the man was round in the middle with a pointy head, with a comb over. There was another person with him. I heard shots from a shotgun and a handgun."

"Don't worry, Teresa, we'll find them," Hightower told her.

* * *

><p>Ice coffee definitely would have been better.<p>

Or even better yet, a mango smoothie.

Rigsby knew it was the heat doing it to him, but he wanted to stop struggling and day dream about about sipping mango smoothies on a tropical beach, a cool ocean breeze blowing, with Grace basking in the sun, lying next to him on the immaculate white sand, wearing a two piece bikini. He would definitely love to deal with that kind of heat. He pushed that thought far from his mind. She was marrying Craig, and he kept telling himself he was fine with that, he was over her, and he was happy for her.

His big frame was stuffed into the Skylark's trunk and it was hard to maneuver. The hot stale air smelled of rubber and grease which did not help the motion sickness he felt. He'd hit his head on the trunk door more than once as they sped down the road, and he was slightly dizzy for it. Rigsby continued his search and felt around for anything to cut the duct tape that bound his hands.

Pushing himself as far back as he could, he ignored the pain as the tire iron jabbed him in the back. The vibrations of the rumble strips they sped over were not helping as he clawed at the trunk's liner. He managed to rip a piece off, exposing the tail light's casing, and with a little force he pushed the light out and gasped at the fresh air that slowly blew in. Rigsby rubbed the tape on an exposed piece of metal slowly wearing it's cloth fibers.

There was a sharp turn which sent the trunk's contents flying towards him. Then there was an abrupt stop, that sent the toolbox behind him flying forward. He winced as it smacked him in the head. Rigsby growled in frustration, the sweat dripped into his eyes as the stifling heat sapped the last of his energy. He took a moment to try and compose himself, adrenaline wearing off and exhaustion setting in. He was now light headed and felt like he was suffocating. The agent knew this was not a good sign, but could hear Jane's voice and found solace that his friend was still all right enough to argue with their captors.

The darkness was suddenly flooded with light, and Rigsby tired his best to shield his eyes. He felt someone's hands grab him and pull him out of the confined space and he fell to the ground with a thud.

"Try anything, and we'll put you back into the trunk, then shoot your friend. Do you understand?" Humpty told him. "Do you understand?"

Rigsby slowly nodded.

They were parked in an alley away from prying eyes. Humpty pulled Jane out of the car.

"Help him into the car blondie," Humpty ordered.

Jane grabbed Rigsby's arm and tried his best to help him up. Rigsby looked disorientated and his dress shirt was drenched in sweat and he was pale. Jane's hands were still bound, but he managed to get Rigsby to a standing position and leaned him on the car.

"You say you need one of us alive, though you haven't said who, not that I'm not complaining, but you've given him heat stroke. Can we at least get some water?" Jane asked. "There's a store right there."

"Do you think were stupid? We let you go and you'll take off, sending every law enforcement officer on us," Lanky said.

"I'm not going to try anything. You're both are armed. One of you can follow me in, the other can watch him. I only want to get him something cold to drink. Look at him."

"He doesn't look so good. That was a smart plan putting him in the trunk," Humpty said.

"Troy said he was resourceful. I didn't see you offering any solutions now did I?" Lanky growled defensively.

"I am not a trained member of law enforcement," Jane offered after putting Rigsby into the back seat. "I'm a consultant. My ID is in my vest pocket. If I were armed don't you think I would have been firing at you when you grabbed us?"

Lanky grabbed Jane by the lapel and punched him once in the gut. After Jane fell to the ground in pain, he reached into Jane's pocket and pulled his ID.

"That's for hitting me with your car." Lanky said, throwing the ID badge back towards Jane. "Get moving. If you're not back in five minutes, I will shoot him."

"You're the boss," Jane wheezed.

"I'll be right back Rigsby. It'll be okay, big guy," Jane told him.

"Yeah. Mango smoothie... " Rigsby panted, eyes closed, his head leaning on the head rest.

Humpty cut the tape from Jane's hands and followed closely behind him.

Jane bee lined for the freezer and grabbed a bag of ice, then made his way down the beverage isle and grabbed a couple of bottles of cold water and a quart of Gatorade. On his way to the register he grabbed a pack of kitchen towels. He shifted on the balls of his heels as the cashier rang him up. She gave him the total and he dropped his credit card onto the counter.

"Uh uh," Humpty growled into Jane's ear. "Do you think I'm stupid? Pay in cash."

"Sorry. Force of habit. I mean who pays for anything with cash now a days."

The cashier finished their transaction with the obligatory, "Have a nice day."

"You too..."

"Let's go!" Humpty said impatiently.

"All right. All right."

Jane grabbed his bag, but accidentally knocked a container of candy off the counter.

"Oh! Sorry." Jane quickly bent down and scooped all the items back into the canister and set it back onto the counter. "That was my bad. You have a nice day."

"Come on!"

"All right."

The two men hurried out of the store and back to the car.

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><p>"Over here," Cho waved Lisbon over. "I've found Rigsby's phone."<p>

"How do you know it his?" Hightower asked.

Cho flipped the phone for them to see, "Jane stuck a Chiquita banana sticker on it yesterday after Rigsby said banana aren't stakeout food."

The phone vibrated and displayed an unknown caller, Cho picked up the call. "No. This is Cho. He is currently unavailable. We work for the same unit, I'm his partner. Yes, that's me. Why what happen? I see. Don't do anything else. I'm going to send someone for the car. Thanks Randal."

"This is Lisbon," Her phone when off while Cho was on the phone. "What? Where?"

"Boss," Cho started.

Lisbon put her hand up for him to wait a moment. "We'll be right there."

"Boss, I can narrow the search down on who took them. I just got off the phone with a friend of mine, Rigsby's mechanic, he said some of the hoses in Rigsby's car had been cut."

"What?" Hightower said.

"They weren't after Jane, they were after Rigsby."

"Get the car. We're headed to Stockton. That was the personal department, a store clerk just found Jane's ID badge and called to ask what she should do with it."

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><p><strong>TBC<strong>


	4. Chapter 4

**[Chapter 4]**

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><p>"I'm here for that ID card." Lisbon flashed her badge when she reached the checkout area.<p>

Jane's ID was clipped to the cashier's polo. The cashier politely nodded and handed it to her.

"That was a quick response for a ID card," she said. "You guys must be very efficient."

"Can I ask you a few questions, Gwyn?" Lisbon read the cashier's name off the tag pinned to her shirt.

"Sure," Gwyn grinned as she bagged a customers purchases and handed back their change. "I'm the only one on the clock though. I need to stay here."

"That's fine." Lisbon and Cho took a step over to let the people behind them pay for their things.

"Were you the one who found the ID badge?" Cho asked.

"Yes," Gwyn responded.

"Did you see the man who left it?" Lisbon asked.

"No. I was straightening the things on the counter when I found it in the tub of Swedish Fish. I only got here half an hour ago or so. Jessie didn't want me to call and that I should toss it in the lost and found box, but I want to know what a CBI was. What does it stand for?"

"California Bureau of Investigations." Cho answered.

"Oh," she sounded disappointed. "It doesn't stand for Caribbean Basin Initiative?"

"No."

"Really? I wanted to see if you'd give me a free trip to the Caribbean for finding it. Are you sure?"

"Positive," Lisbon assured the young woman. "Where is Jessie?"

"She's probably sitting on the pallets in the back."

"Thank you for your time."

"Can I get a trip to the Caribbean?"

The agents ignored her and kept walking. Lisbon and Cho made their way behind the store, where they found another young woman sitting on a stack of wooden skids. The woman swung her feet as she text on her cell phone.

"Jessie?"

"Yes?"

"I'm Agent Lisbon." She flashed her badge. "This is Cho. We would like to ask you a few questions."

"Really? I'm on break," Jessie whined. "Can't this wait until I'm on the clock."

"This is regarding the kidnapping of two state agents-" Lisbon continued.

"Hey. Yeah babe, hold on a sec..." The girl answered her phone completely ignoring Lisbon. "Excuse me, give me a few minutes. I'm on the phone..."

Cho grabbed the phone and pressed the end button. "Now you're not."

"How rude! You can't do that."

"I just did." Cho replied.

"Now I'm definitely not talking to you guys."

"Why don't we just take this to the police station," Lisbon said.

"You can't charge me with anything," the girl argued.

"We can charge you with obstruction of justice," Lisbon stated. "Cuff her."

"Aiding and abetting," Cho added as he pulled out his cuffs and cuffed her. "And that's on two state agents."

"Who was I aiding?" Jessie interjected. "You would need evidence and proof."

"We'll find something," Lisbon replied.

"We could always just plant it," Cho added. Lisbon nodded in agreement.

"Doesn't that carry prison time, Agent Cho?" Lisbon continued.

"Yes, it does, Agent Lisbon. It's a felony. That's at least five years."

"Let's go." Lisbon ordered.

Cho grabbed her by the arm and proceeded to lead her away.

"What? Wait." Jessie gauged their reactions. She was now cuffed and they looked serious about the whole thing.

"Let's try this again," Cho said. "What did the man look like?"

"He kidnapped my colleagues. We won't charge you with anything if you cooperate. All we want to do is get them back safely," Lisbon said.

"He was blond wearing a vest," Jessie cooperated.

"The other one." Cho said.

"I don't know. I wasn't paying attention to them. It was early and I was half asleep. White guy, brown hair, thinning, combed over, black t-shirt, I think," she stammered.

"And..." Lisbon motioned her to keep going.

"I don't know. I don't wanna go to jail," Jessie panicked.

"What did they buy?" Cho asked.

"Drinks and ice," Gwyn answered.

"I need details," Cho informed her. "Think."

"Uh, Gatorade, kitchen towels, and water. The blond guy wanted to pay with a credit card but the other guy said something to him and he paid in cash."

"Paid in cash? Who paid?"

"The blond guy."

"Did the other guy say or do anything?"

"He kept his head down and basically dragged the other guy out of the store after they paid for their stuff."

"Are there cameras in the store? Where is the owner or manager?" Lisbon asked.

"The owner opened the store. He said he'll be back in twenty minutes. That was four hours ago. He does it all the time."

"Call him," Cho ordered.

"He doesn't answer when I call."

"What do you do if something goes wrong, or if you have an issue?" Cho asked.

"If there is anything really wrong Gwyn call him from her cell phone and sometimes gets a response. Or we call Kay, she works here, but isn't on today. She'd tell us what to do."

"Does Kay have access to the cameras?" Lisbon asked.

"The camera in the front doesn't work. I unplugged it. I've been skimming from the till for weeks. My boss hasn't noticed it."

"Great. Uncuff her," Lisbon told Cho. "Look, we aren't going to arrest you, but we are going to tell your boss what you've been doing."

Cho handed the girl back her phone. "Call Kay," he ordered.

* * *

><p>He quickly scrambled to his knees, but was thrown to the floor once more as another object collided with him, knocking the breath from his lungs. Jane wheezed, tangled up with the heavier object. He realized it was a person when it groaned.<p>

"Rigsby?"

"...ow.. yeah Jane? " He weakly answered.

"Don't try anything or we will shoot you," Humpty warned.

"Easy. There's no need for that. We aren't resisting," Jane assured them after he forced himself to a kneeling position. He gave a quick glance over to Rigsby who still laid on the ground. "What's this about?"

They did not give him an answer. Lanky threw Jane's bag of provision next to him, then the two walked out of the room. The metal door clanged shut behind them sealing them in.

Jane struggled to his feet and then pulled Rigsby to a sitting position and leaned him against a wall. He then gnawed at the tape that bound his hands until they were free.

"How do you feel?" Jane asked after freeing Rigsby.

"Tired."

The poorly lit room was no bigger than twenty by ten and thankfully air conditioned. Jane could hear the ac unit struggle as it blasted cool, stale air around the room. There was a makeshift workbench on the far end and bunch of stray crates here and there, some covered by plastic tarps.

"How long was I out?" Rigsby pressed himself against the coolness of the wall. He felt nauseous and really dizzy, but he was trying not to think about it. Out of sight, out of mind as the old proverb said.

"We drove around for about an hour before we stopped, and they threw us in here. It seems to lock from the outside," Jane said as explored their surroundings. There were no windows, just a slotted vent on the roof that was closed. It seemed to be a rather large storage shed, with metal walls. The consultant pushed his weight against them. The walls did not bow, flex or warp and was made of a fairly thick steel or aluminum. He pushed on the door. It did not budge.

"It's too square to be a shipping container..." Jane mumbled to himself.

Rigsby pulled off his dress shirt to press more of his bare skin against the cool metal wall. It felt so good and he didn't want to move from this spot. "I'll help you. Give me a minute."

"It's okay, you rest up. Think cool thoughts." Jane patted him on the shoulder and handed him a bottle of cold water.

"Sorry. I just feel useless. I should have done more."

"From the trunk? It's all right, you did everything you could. We are okay, a little worse for wear, and not shot, which is good. I thought they fried your brain when you kept laughing about mango smoothies during the drive. Hallucinating about a certain redhead drinking mango smoothies with you?" Jane wagged his eyebrows as Rigsby blushed.

"Wait? What did I say?"

"Nothing really. Other than she should get you another. I was only guessing at the Van Pelt part. Judging from your reaction I was right..."

"You know we are in danger here."

"I sure do," Jane laughed, "but you know I can't resist. I tried to leave Lisbon a clue to where we were headed, hopefully she gets it."

Rigsby closed his eyes and nodded slightly.

"I'm just trying to figure out where this here is," Jane continued his search of the room.

Jane was glad that Humpty and Lanky were gone. They ordered him to keep his head down and not look out any of the window as they sped down the highway. Jane glanced up once, and Lanky pistol whip him in the face, leaving a gash and a rather large bruise. Then Humpty threatened push him out of the speeding car if he did not listen.

Jane obliged. He tended to Rigsby from the backseat, applying ice packs to the agent to reverse the heat stroke, all the while carefully keeping track of their speed, direction, and Lanky and Humpty's hushed conversation. The kidnappers were improvising and this was not how it was suppose to go down. They were suppose to take Rigsby from his house, but got lost and arrived there too late.

"Descendant of a foot soldier..." Jane thought out loud.

"What?"

"Do you know a Troy? Lanky and Humpty were talking about a man named Troy. Troy told them you were resourceful."

"I know a lot of Troys. My college roommate was named Troy, couple of firefighters in San Diego, people I've arrest with CBI and when I was with arson, had a best friend named Troy. A maintenance man in the building I use to live in..." Rigsby slowly rattled off.

"Any of them want to kidnap you?"

"I don't think any of them would. I mean my roommate's girlfriend left him for me. She was hot, but no substance, you know. I got into a fist fight with a firefighter named Troy. There's people I've arrested. I haven't spoken to my former best friend since we were fourteen..."

"What happened?"

Rigsby took a sip of the water then answered, "a difference in opinion."

Jane took Rigsby's tone as he wanted to drop the subject. "Did you notice that smell?"

"It's diethyl ether."

"These bottles say nh3 on them." Jane picked up one from the crate in front of him.

"Anhydrous ammonia," Rigsby mumbled.

"I just found a few dozen boxes of matches. At least we won't have to worry about light."

"Great."

"What?"

"We're holed up in a meth lab."

* * *

><p>"That was pointless," Lisbon said.<p>

The two agents sat in Lisbon's Tahoe, still parked in front of the store. Lisbon was frustrated. They still had no clue where Rigsby and Jane were or which direction they were headed.

Kay, who was more helpful than the other two employees, had came and went. She had shown them the security cameras, but they were useless. The surveillance DVR wasn't set properly and did not record anything. The camera they really needed was the one Jessie unplugged.

Lisbon tapped the ID card in her hand and looked down towards Jane's smiling photo. Jane left it for a reason, but she couldn't figure out why.

"Check in with Van Pelt. I'm going back inside to ask a few more questions," she told Cho.

"Hey, wait!" Gwyn jogged up to the SUV. "I forgot to mention something I noticed."

The two agents waited for the girl to continue. After a few moments of not answering Lisbon snapped. "What! We don't have time to waste."

"Sorry, zoned out there for a moment. You don't have to be so mean," she said. "I was playing with the ID card, looking at the security holograms and what not, and I noticed that there's something etched lightly onto the back of the card. You kinda gotta tip it a certain way to see it. It looked like letters to me. I made out one word I think it said 'gson' "

"Thanks."

"I hope you find your people," Gwyn nodded and retreated back into the store.

Lisbon tipped the ID card towards the sunlight. What she originally thought were scuffs and scratches, formed crude letters.

"W-e-0-k. w-.-g-s-o-n. v-9-1-1-z-f-i. h-l-p." Lisbon read it out loud. "What's that suppose to mean?"

* * *

><p><strong>TBC<strong>


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer- They are like little action figures I do not own, but have the incisive need to play with. CBS owns them. Mr. Heller made them. No money is, was, or ever will be made from this. **

**[Chapter 5]**

* * *

><p>"We need to get out of here." Jane began to pace. He hoped that his message would reach Lisbon. She would understand it and help them, but it didn't hurt to have a backup plan. "Hey? Are you still with me?"<p>

Jane glanced over to the agent. Rigsby looked to be unconscious. "Rigsby?"

"Yeah," Rigsby eyes fluttered open. He was so tired and had to close his eyes for a few minutes. He was dizzy, his head really hurt and the agent suspected he had a concussion on top of the heat stoke, but didn't want to alarm Jane. "Sorry, must of nodded off."

"We need to get out of here," Jane repeated.

"What's the plan?" Rigsby forced himself to his feet and began to sway. The nausea hit him and he willed himself not to throw up.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," he lied. "What's the plan?"

"There." Jane grabbed one end of the workbench and began to drag it over to the air conditioner. He climbed up and examined the old wall unit. There were a few screws holding the AC into the wall, most of them were stripped and it looked like who ever put it in used whatever screws they had laying around. There were two eye screws, a drywall screw and three sheet metal screws holding it in place.

"Can you pull it out?" Rigsby asked.

Jane pried the unit from the wall with his fingers. It gave a little. The workbench began to wobble and Jane stopped.

"It's loose, but I can't get enough leverage," he told the agent. Jane jumped down and began to scan the room for something he could use. "We need some sort of lever, a screw driver or something..."

"If we both try to pull it out at the same time we might be able to do it," Rigsby suggested.

"We'll try that as plan B. This will do," Jane showed Rigsby a metal pipe he found in the corner.

"If not we can always use it as a bat and swing on them as soon as they come through the door," Rigsby offered as he leaned on the wall for support.

"That's a definite plan C," Jane said as he climbed back on top of the workbench.

Jane wedged the pipe between the left side of the air conditioner and the wall. He pulled with all of his might. The screws came loose and sunlight peeked through the gap. The workbench began to sway, and he stopped a moment to regain his balance.

"Come on, just a little more," Jane mumbled to himself.

Jane wiped his brow. They need to get out of here quickly. He was curious which Troy kidnapped them and what this whole thing was about, but he was not the intended target. Statistically speaking that didn't bode well for him, being basically useless to his captors, plus Rigsby needed medical attention.

He took the pipe and wedged it between the air conditioner's frame and the right side of the wall. Jane took a deep breath and grabbed the pipe with both hands to try again. The AC shifted a little more but it wasn't enough. The consultant braced his foot against the wall and pulled with all his strength. The screws snapped. The work bench swayed. The pipe slipped, and Jane lost his balance and went crashing into a stack of crates near him.

* * *

><p>George Watson sat in the backseat of the Buick Skylark, his Mossburg lay across his lap. He had just finished reloading the weapon as he, Jimmy, and their boss Troy sped down the highway back towards the storage unit. He ran his fingers through his thinning hair and listened to his boss rant and yell over the blaring music that pumped through the speakers.<p>

"I swear you two are really stupid," Troy shook his head in disbelief.

"Where else did you want us to put them?" Jimmy argued. "We couldn't just drive around with them."

"Did it occur to either one of you to stay with them? To, I don't know, watch them?" Troy asked. "I told you to grab one guy. How are there two of them?"

"He was with the guy you wanted us to grab," George said.

"Please tell me you me you restrained them at least?" Troy asked.

"Yeah we did,"Jimmy said, "with duct tape."

"Duct tape? You taped them to something? A chair? A support beam? Each other?" Troy asked.

"No. We bound their hands." Jimmy glanced over to his boss. "What?"

"And their feet?"

"No, just their hands."

"You two are really stupid."

"What? We locked the door," Jimmy insisted. "They can't get out."

Troy shot an angry glare at Jimmy.

"What? You didn't tell us what to do. You also didn't tell us he was an armed state agent. You also weren't the one getting run over or shot at. This is way more effort than what you are paying-"

Troy threw a quick jab to the lanky man's face, then reached over, and flung opened the passenger door.

"Wait!" Jimmy yelled trying to grab for the steering wheel or anything within reach.

Troy pushed Jimmy out of speeding car, calmly pulled the passenger door shut then looked up at the rear view mirror. He glared towards the egg shaped man and spoke again, "you better hope they are still in there."

George nodded and was glad he wasn't riding in the passenger seat.

* * *

><p>'W-e-0-k. w-.-g-s-o-n. v-9-1-1-z-f-i. H-l-p.'<p>

Lisbon and Cho stared down at the note pad trying to decipher Jane's message. They were still parked curbside at the convenience store.

"We OK." Cho suggested. "We're okay."

"Yeah, that's what it looks like, but what's the rest of it?" Lisbon tilted the card again to see if there was more to the message.

"911? Emergency?" Cho offered.

"The end looks like help?"

"F-I... Find help? He's trying to find help?"

Lisbon reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone. "Grace, have you made any progress with the surveillance videos? Okay good. Hold on let me put you on speaker phone so Cho can hear you."

Lisbon placed her phone on the dashboard between them.

"Can you both hear me now?" Grace spoke.

"Yeah," they said in unison.

"I was telling the boss, Bailey and I were able to find some surveillance footage of their captors. One was from the camera outside where Jane and Rigsby taken. They threw Rigsby in the trunk boss. We have to find them. In this heat it's got to be an oven..."

"I know Grace. We'll find them," she assured her junior agent. "The surveillance video..."

"It's a bit grainy and the resolution sucks. We got an image of one of the captors. We are still working on getting the other. Hopefully we'll get a match with the facial recognition software. Craig, I mean Agent O'Laughlin is running it right now."

"He's our FBI liaison?" Cho asked.

"Yes. We are also running prints we found at the scene. That might take a while there were a lot of them," Grace said.

"How about the car? Any luck with the plates?" Lisbon asked.

"Garrison was only able to get a partial from the witness. We are trying to narrow down the search. One witness said it was a Skylark, another said it was a Century. Half of them said it was black and the other half said it was blue. One witness said there were four men, one said there was only one."

"What's the partial plate?" Cho asked.

"Victor-Nine the last two characters are Frank-Ida," Grace Said

Cho stared at the notepad. "Run this plate, Victor-Nine-One-One-Zebra-Frank-Ida."

"Jane tried us to leave us a message on the back of his ID card. From what we can decipher, they are currently okay."

"That's good to hear."

Lisbon could hear some sort of commotion through the phone. There were several people speaking at once, but it was coming in garbled and distorted on her end.

"Hold on boss," Grace said through the phone.

"Okay."

Lisbon started the car and pulled into traffic. Sitting idly was not helping, and was actually frustrating her more. She flipped the ID card in her hand as she sat at the red light and stared at Jane's smiling face while drumming her fingers on the steering wheel. It was hours since they were taken. There was no contact from the captors and no ransom demand, which seemed to rule out kidnapping for money. She felt like they were missing something right in front of them.

"Think like Jane..." she mumbled to herself as she continued eastward down the street.

"You are going the wrong way," the GPS gently spoke.

Lisbon reached over to mute the GPS unit. She slammed on the brakes and the car lurched to a stop.

"What?" Cho asked as he readjusted the shoulder strap of his seat belt.

"Grayson," she said staring at the on screen map.

Cho waited for her to continue.

"The map," Lisbon pointed to the GPS. ". Westward. Grayson. They are heading west towards Grayson."

"Boss!" Van Pelt yelled through the phone.

"What? What happen?" Lisbon asked.

"Two federal Marshals just showed up."

"Do they have any information on the case?"

"No. They're looking Rigsby."

* * *

><p><strong>TBC<strong>


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer- They are like little action figures I do not own, but have the incisive need to play with. CBS owns them. Mr. Heller made them. No money is, was, or ever will be made from this.**

**[Chapter 6]**

* * *

><p>"Boss, I'm gonna have to call you back." Grace hung up the phone to address the two men standing by her desk. "And you guys are?"<p>

"I'm Davis, he's Sloan. We're with the Marshal Service. F.I.S.T."

"Rigsby seems to be a popular guy today," Craig said. "I'm O'Laughlin, FBI, and this is Van Pelt, CBI, Major Case part of Rigsby's unit. What does a fugitive strike team want with Rigsby?"

"What did you mean by 'Rigsby's a popular guy today'?" Sloan asked.

"He and our consultant were taken earlier today. We have are following some leads. What did you want him for?" Grace said.

"We are tracking down a fugitive who escaped a work detail four months ago, Troy Hillard." Davis dropped the dossier onto Grace's desk for them to flip through. "We were following a lead, which led to Agent Rigsby."

O'Laughlin let off a whistle as he continued to read the file over Grace's shoulder. "Assault, trafficking, attempted murder, aggravated assault, possession with intent to sell, manslaughter, across four states. It just goes on and on. Juvenile offender to career criminal. The prison let him out on a work detail?"

"What does this have to do with Rigsby? I don't see him as the arresting officer on any of these charges or listed as family or known associates. What led you here?" Grace asked.

"One of Hillard's associates mentioned Rigsby. We thought that meant his father. Steven Rigsby wasn't the most cooperative fellow," Sloan answered.

"That was putting it mildly. The man laughed at us, said he didn't talk to pigs, and tried to slam the door in our faces," Davis said.

"My foot still kind of hurts," Sloan said sheepishly. "They both served sentences in Carson, but were in different cell blocks. Took some coaxing and threatening, but Mr. Rigsby said to ask his son, so we decided to pay Agent Rigsby a visit."

There was a ding from Grace's computer. She hit a few key strokes and turned the screen to the men huddled around her desk. "I got a hit on the two from the surveillance video. George Watson and James West."

Sloan reached over and flipped the file a couple of pages to show the mugshots of the two. "That would be right. Watson and West are known associates. They ran together, and were all scooped up in a drug bust a few years back. We questioned them a two days ago, and they said they didn't know where Hillard was."

"Give me a minute. I have to relay this info to my boss," Grace told them.

* * *

><p>"Cho." He answered his phone on the first ring and took out his pad to take notes. They were on their way towards Grayson, but were sitting in bumper to bumper traffic. "She's on the phone with Hightower or Bertram. You can email the files to me. The Marshals are working the same case? We're following a lead."<p>

"More like a hunch," Lisbon mumbled to herself after she hung up the phone. "What now? What's going on up there."

Lisbon swerved onto the shoulder and made it a few yards before a deputy came running towards the car with his waving his hands, yelling, "Stop! What are you doing? I'm sorry, but there's a crime scene ahead, and we are trying to redirect traffic as fast as we can. Back up or I will have you arrested for obstruction of justice."

Lisbon reached into her pocket and flashed her badge. "We're with CBI. We need to cut the line a bit."

"That was quick."

"What was quick?" Lisbon asked.

"I'll show you. May I?" The deputy motioned to the backseat. Lisbon popped the lock and the deputy hopped into the SUV and rolled down the window. "Billy! Handle the traffic. I'm going to show these agents the crime scene."

Billy nodded his head as they drove past.

"Whew. We could have walked, but I just wanted to get out of the heat just a bit." The deputy leaned his head on the headrest. "Larry just said he was just going to call you. You must have been close by or something. We just got to the scene fifteen minutes ago."

"I'm Lisbon. He's Cho," Lisbon introduced themselves.

"Jeff. Jeff Milton."

"Why were you going to call us?" Cho asked.

"There was an incident on this stretch of road. We found this ID on the body. "The deputy handed the evidence bag to Cho. "I was just about to put it in my car."

"Boss, it's Rigsby's."

"Damn, I'm sorry. We couldn't identity the body by the photo. The head, well, see for yourself."

Lisbon scowled as she walked under the crime scene tape for the second time today. The Sheriff stood next to a heavy haul Mack truck talking to a man who kept shaking his head in disbelief, while another deputy talked to a man in a white Denali.

There were body parts scattered and smashed into the hot asphalt. Lisbon could make out an arm and leg and part of a torso covered by a tarp in front of the large semi and SUV.

"Witness say he was pushed from the car into traffic. The truck driver tried to stop but, well..." Jeff shook his head. "Around here the speed limit sixty five. The truck driver is a bit shook up, and admits he was doing about eighty. From what we can surmise, he bounced off the grill of the semi and into the SUV, and was dragged."

Lisbon took a closer step to the body. There was a sleeve tattoo covering the man's left arm.

"That's not my agent." Lisbon let out a breath she didn't know she was holding. "My agent doesn't have any tattoos on his arms."

"He matches the description of one of the men who took Jane and Rigs. Van Pelt emailed us some info and pictures while you were on the phone," Cho said.

"Do you have any CSI's on the scene? I would like to send a ten-print to my FBI liaison to run at Quantico."

"We don't have anything like that. The local law enforcement consists of me, Billy, Rob the sheriff, and Roy. Nothing happens around here just speeding tickets and minor disputes. We've requested assistants from Highway Patrol and the neighboring law enforcement. We're still waiting for the coroner and just trying to keep everything calm as can be."

"Do you have a description of the car?"

"He was pushed from a dark colored sedan."

"Black Skylark? California plates?"

"Could have been a Skylark. That would match the description. Roy reported an abandoned car further down the road about three miles up. It was pretty banged up. I was going to have it towed to the gas station, but this took priority."

"We're going to take over this investigation," Lisbon told the deputy. "This incident is connected to the kidnapping of two of my agents."

"By all mean. There is one more thing I should mention. I got a call from Pete Thompson, said two men assaulted him and stole his van from the grocery store lot while he was unloading deliveries. Roy is with Pete, taking his statement."

"I need the make, model, and license of that car now," Lisbon said. "How long ago was this?"

"About twenty minutes ago or so. It's a navy blue Dodge Sprinter."

"Cho! Get the car. They were just here!" Lisbon yelled across the crime scene to Cho who was talking to the Sheriff. She turned back to Milton. "Do you know which direction they were heading?"

"I can get Roy on the radio and ask him."

Lisbon pulled the phone from her pocket. "I need a few agents to cover a scene. We just found one of the men who took Jane and Rigsby. I need a BOLO for a Dodge Sprinter."

* * *

><p>"Jane!"<p>

Jane forced himself to a standing position and shook his head to clear the stars that circled above. He stumbled around the room a bit until Rigsby grabbed his arm.

"Whoa. I'm all right," Jane told him.

"Did you inhale any of it?" Rigsby asked. "How much of the stuff did you inhale?"

Rigsby pulled Jane towards him and poured the bottle of water on the consultants head to was off the residual powder.

Jane hissed in pain as the water came in contact with the gash on his face. He was about to dry his face with his sleeve but Rigsby grabbed his arm again.

"Don't. We don't know what that powder was. You don't want to get anymore in that cut on your face." Rigsby pointed to the gash.

Jane nodded and pulled his vest and dress shirt off and dropped them onto the floor.

"Jane, did you inhale any of it?"

"I'm not sure," Jane told him when his head stopped spinning. "Some. A little. Not much."

"We need to get out of here."

"Do you gave any idea what that powder was?"

"It could be anything."

"It was Meth."

"It could be anything," Rigsby frowned.

"Which one of the Troys has a Meth connection and would want to kidnap you."

"I don't know. Three of them? This isn't important right now."

"Really. Wow. Which three?"

"Former best friend, and two people I help convict. Come on." Rigsby grabbed him by the arm and led him to the opening in the wall.

"Ow, dammit." Jane grabbed for the hole and cut himself on it's edge.

"What? Are you okay?"

"I'm fine just be careful. The edge there is sharp."

He let go of the rim and grabbed his suit jacket that was on the floor. After ripping a sleeve off to use as a bandage, he draped it over the opening before attempting to hoist himself out. Rigsby grabbed his feet and pushed him through the rest of the way.

"Which one do you think would do this to you?" Jane asked after Rigsby landed next to him with the pipe in his hand.

Wayne frowned.

"It's your former best friend."

"No," Rigsby said. "I didn't say that."

"Your mind keeps going back to him. Why is that?"

"I really don't want to talk about this. Can we just concentrate on getting out of here? How are you feeling?"

"A little banged up. I'm fine, trying to keep myself calm," Jane told him. "There. We can borrow that."

They found themselves in a fenced off area surrounded by barrels and cars in various conditions. Jane pointed to an old beat up F-100. The only car near them that wasn't being held up by cinder blocks.

"Do you think it still runs?" Rigsby asked.

"I think I can hot wire it." Jane slid into the driver's seat and began taking apart the steering column. "You were telling about your best friend."

"I wasn't." Rigsby sighed and ran his hand through his hair. His darted back and forth, looking for any signs of danger as he gripped the pipe tighter. "Look, its a part of my life I don't think about."

"We all have skeletons to hide."

"I mean, I don't poke and prod about your past. I've never read what's in your file."

"You should, it's an interesting read," Jane grinned. "I've read yours."

"What?" Rigsby flicked his head back towards Jane.

"I've read yours, Cho's and Van Pelt's. I wanted to know who I was working with."

"Those files are confidential. How did you even get access to- you know what, never mind."

"It's okay everyone has a past. We all have done things we shouldn't have and we regret."

"So you know my mother was killed, dad's a convicted felon that wanted little to do with me once I lost my usefulness."

"Usefulness?" Jane looked up from underneath the steering wheel. "What were you doing?"

"Nothing."

"Hmmm." Jane continued to rewire the starter. "If it's nothing then why does your former best friend want to kidnap you?"

"I never said it was my former best friend."

"Not out loud, but your body language tells a different story."

"That's the heat stroke."

"You sure about that? It's okay if you want to talk about it. I won't judge."

"Look, we need to get you to a hospital. We don't know what that powder was. How do you feel? We should of taken a sample of the stuff."

"I'm okay. Stop asking me if I'm okay. I'll let you know if anything changes." Jane continued his task. "I did take a sample of the stuff. It's in an evidence bag in your pocket."

The engine roared to life shifted the car into gear. "Come on."

"No, I'll drive."

"I told you, I'm fine."

"Snorting Meth can take five to ten minutes for you to feel it's affects. I would rather you not drive while your sense are impaired."

"Who said it was Meth, without analysis it could be talc, cornstarch, baking soda or coke."

"We were in a Meth lab and it looked like Meth to me. Depending on a number of factors, potency, tolerance can effect when it will hit you. And coke? Really? How was that a better choice?"

Jane shrugged. "How is your head? Still dizzy and fuzzy. Does your vision still blurry? Still having an issue focusing? Did the nausea subside? Feeling any other affects from the concussion you've sustained?"

"Who says I have a concussion?"

"Who said it was Meth?"

"We don't have time for this!"

"Easy. Take a deep breath and calm down. You can drive."

"Sorry. I don't mean to snap at you. It just..."

"I know the heat, the fun morning we had, skeletons. I get it..."

The car began to sputter, then backfired. Rigsby hopped into the passenger seat. Jane didn't wait for Rigsby to close his door fully before he floored it and sped through the fence.

"Take that!" Jane laughed.

It was a bit of a bumpy ride before they made it to a dirt road. Rigsby rummaged through the contents of the car. Most of it was junk, but he struck gold when he found looked into the glove compartment.

"Hey look. Cell phone. Looks like our luck is changing," Rigsby said. "I shouldn't have said that. I probably just jinxed us."

"I don't say that. Think positive thoughts. We'll be in the office shortly. I'll be sitting on my couch drinking a nice tall glass of ice tea in the air conditioning."

"Make that two. And some peach cobbler."

"There you go."

"Boss!" Rigsby yelled excitedly into the phone. "Can you triangulate my signal? You are breaking up a bit. I don't know where we are. I can see mountains in the distance. I think it's Mt. Diablo."

"Ask her if they deciphered my message?" Jane said.

"Boss? Can you hear me?" Rigsby pulled the phone from his ear. The phone beeped a low battery signal. "Damn. Come on don't die on me..."

"Uh Rigsby..." Jane grabbed his arm and the agent looked up from the phone.

"Troy..." Rigsby looked at the car in front of them.

Humpty leaned out of the passenger's seat and fired the shot gun at them. The buckshot smashed the windshield.

"Jane go!" Rigsby ducked down in his seat.

Jane swerved off the dirt road and into the dense brush. He veered left, just narrowly avoiding a tree. It was becoming hard to steer. The truck had momentum and was rolling downhill. Jane tried his best to avoid the obstacles in front of him.

"Which Troy was that," Jane yelled.

"Best friend."

"Ooo..."

"Jane? Are you hit?"

"No, but that's an interesting sensation. I think you were right. It is Meth..."

* * *

><p><strong>TBC<strong>


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer- They are like little action figures I do not own, but have the incisive need to play with. CBS owns them. Mr. Heller made them. No money is, was, or ever will be made from this.**

**[Chapter 7]**

* * *

><p>"Are you okay? You look a bit perplexed," Jane asked.<p>

This is not how he pictured his day would go. Concussed, speeding down the side of a hill with his spun colleague at the wheel, while being chased by his ex-best friend whose lackey was shooting at them, getting ambushed in traffic, kidnapped, then being tossed into a car trunk in sweltering heat and humidity. Rigsby shook his head and ran that sentence by himself one more time.

"Kinda like a movie," Jane said as he bounced in his seat. The trucks shocks were worn making their escape a very bumpy ride.

"What?" Rigsby asked not entirely sure if he said that last though out loud. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah. Yeah. I'm fine. Did we lose them?" Jane jerked the car to the right, narrowly avoiding a tree before he looked back to see if Troy and Humpty were giving chase. "You just might want to put your seat belt on. This really is an interesting sensation."

He knew he should have insisted on driving, but Jane was right. Their speed and trajectory was not helping his nausea. Rigsby took a breath, trying to calm his nerves and his stomach. At least his vision wasn't blurring as frequently, and his headache was now a consistent dull throb instead of a sharp pain. Jane jerked the car to the right again and Rigsby smacked his shoulder into the door hard.

"Ow. Slow down! You don't want the truck to flip," Rigsby warned.

"It's weird, but in a good way. How's my driving? I thought I was driving slow. Must be the momentum. I think I'm doing well. Right? Everything seems so- vivid. I think I can see every shade of brown in the trees, sepia, umber, fawn, russet, tan, sand, that rhymes... My hand aren't at ten and two..." Jane took his hands off the wheel and stared at them. They looked so weird to him and he couldn't figure out why. His hands were shaking, but he couldn't feel them shake. "I don't feel nervous. I should be nervous, we have two sociopaths chasing us. Is that why my hands are shaking?"

"Jane!" Rigsby grabbed the wheel and pulled the car to the left.

"You don't have to yell. I'm fine. I can hear you just fine. It was just that first rush, whoo..." Jane let off a whistle and put his hands back on the steering wheel. "Alert and euphoric, but my mind is racing, from thought, to thought, to thought. I can see why people like this. And for the record I saw that tree. I had time to swerve around it. Have you ever tried...?"

"No."

"Not ever? Anything?"

"No! Pay attention." A branch smacked into the windshield cracking it a little more.

"You're lying. I'm gonna say as a teen. Young teen... Tried it once or twice to see what the allure was? The question is was it meth or weed..." Jane mimicked Rigsby now scowling face, but grinned after a few seconds. "Didn't your mother say not to make faces. It might get stuck that way. When you lie, you ducked your head and avert your eyes ever so slightly, a subconscious response. You need to work on it. If you're going to lie, believe the lie. Say it like you believe it to be true. Don't worry, I don't intend on repeating this experience, especially not driving. And if you're going to throw up please do it out the window. You look a little green, like a pistachio or a honeydew or an asparagus. Definitely not a forest, lime or a pine, ha, that rhymed... Chartreuse. No. Heart problems, seizures and paranoia and all that other jazz. We have enough excitement working for CBI without throwing those into the mix. Why are most of the shades of green named after food? Is there anything to eat or drink in here?"

"I could use less excitement right now. Rocks! Watch the rocks!" Rigsby pointed though the cracked windshield.

Jane easily turned away from them and they continued their decent downhill.

"Stop yelling. You're getting all worked up and making me kind of anxious. I should be anxious. There are people shooting at us. That can't be good for your blood pressure or mine. All that blood rushing to your head. How's your head?"

"I'm okay! I'd be better if you'd pay attention to driving and not getting us killed."

"Really, stop making that face. It's like Lisbon's 'why did I listen to him? I'm gonna regret this and have to fill out a lot of paperwork' face."

"We're gonna die..."

"Nonsense. It'll all work out. When have I steered you wrong?"

"Lately?"

"And we are not going to die. Relax. I promise you by before the next sunrise we will be sitting on my couch drinking ice tea and eating cobbler."

"Yeah right."

"What? You don't believe me. Don't be so pessimistic. I bet you twenty bucks, plus you buy me ice cream everyday for the rest of the month and at least once a week one of them has to be a sundae. And if I'm wrong I will buy you and the team sundaes everyday for the rest of the month plus give you twenty bucks. Okay?" Jane turned towards him.

"Fine! Whatever! Just watch where we are going and keep your hands on the wheel. The trees!"

Jane banked a hard left around the trees. "All right bet! You know I've had similar rushes doing other things, without the use of chemical stimulation."

"Have you?"

"I could be faking it right now."

"Are you? Cause that would be really uncool," Rigsby said slightly miffed.

"No, but we went from horrified to annoyed. I'm used to people looking at me like they're annoyed," Jane grinned. "Is the phone really dead? I have no idea where we are going. I don't even see the main road. Are they behind us? Can you call Lisbon? Wait, do we want to call Lisbon? We are currently committing a misdemeanor under California penal code 1155. You're the law enforcement agent who let me drive. Doesn't that make you an accomplice? Oh, whatever."

"Let you? I remember you insisting."

"Mint cream is also green and the first cone you're gonna buy me. Just go with it. Wait, wait, wait!" Jane said with some urgency and slammed on the brakes. The car skidded a few feet then stopped, then the engine died.

"What what's wrong?"

"Was I rambling? I think I was rambling."

"You stopped for that?"

"You were getting all bent out of shape about me not paying attention to the road. So I stopped. Was I?"

"Yes, maybe a little. Let's go. I don't know if they are behind us."

Jane gave it a little gas and tried to restart the car. The car made a clicking sound, but didn't start.

"Uh oh," Jane frowned.

"You've got to be kidding..." Rigsby grumbled.

* * *

><p><strong>TBC<strong>

**I know it's a little short.**

**Gingersnaps... **


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer- They are like little action figures I do not own, but have the incisive need to play with. CBS owns them. Mr. Heller made them. Chompy wants to play with them. No money is, was, or ever will be made from this.**

**[Chapter 8]**

* * *

><p>They were speeding down the road with the lights and sirens on, anxious to catch sight of the navy blue van.<p>

Cho slowed the vehicle down. There was a man standing in the middle of the road waving his arms trying to get their attention.

"That was quick," the older man said. He approached the SUV and spoke to them from the passenger's side. "I just called the sheriff's office a few minutes ago."

"Sir, we are in the middle of an investigation. Please move or I will have you arrested for obstruction," Lisbon told the old man.

"Now you just wait one second young lady. Back in my day, we had manner and respected our elders-"

"Sir, We really don't have time for this..."

"That's the guy who almost hit me..." The old man reached into the SUV and tried to grab Jane's ID card sitting on the console in front of Lisbon.

"Don't do that," Cho warned.

Cho grabbed the old guy's thumb and twisted it back. The man yelped in pain.

"Ahhh. Let go. I didn't mean any harm... You almost broke my thumb. Children these days manhandling an old man. First I almost got run over-"

"Sir, what did you mean almost ran you over?" Lisbon asked.

"You two are awfully rude. Where's Rob? He's a man with manors. I don't even know if you are officers of the law..."

Lisbon took a breath and started over. "I'm sorry sir. I'm Agent Lisbon and this is Agent Cho. We are with the California Bureau of Investigations."

Cho flashed his badge.

"Blondie came racing up the hill and almost hit me. I was standing right there. He just missed me. Almost killed me." He pointed a few yards away from the tire tracks.

"Are you sure it was him."

"Yes, he was with another fella, black hair. Bigger. Solid looking..."

"Sir, can you wait over there for a minute?" Lisbon asked.

"Sure, since you asked so politely," The old man stumbled a few feet from the car.

"What do you think?" Lisbon turned to Cho.

"Rigs sounded like he were in a moving vehicle when they called. Van Pelt puts that call in this area. We have dozens of CHP screening the roads and a copter up in the air looking for the Sprinter."

"He did describe Rigsby. The old guy's a little tipsy. You can smell the bourbon on him."

"Yeah. I know."

"Why would they be headed there?"

"Let's find out."

Lisbon hopped out of the SUV and headed towards the old guy. "Sir, What's your name."

"Ian. Ian Graham."

"Mr. Graham. What are you doing out here?"

"Just taking a stroll. I love the heat. I use to live in New Mexico. This is nothing."

"Mr. Graham, we're going to check it out. Do you need anything? I can call Deputy Milton to come get you."

"No, it's fine. You just arrest that blond guy."

"I'll give him a good scolding."

"Good enough," the old man said and he continued on his way.

"Boss, I just got off the phone with the guys in the chopper. They made a pass earlier. The only things around here are a few dirt roads and some sort of structure."

"Let's go."

They made their way up hill until the came to an olive green squarish metal structure. The fence around it was damaged.

"We've got probable cause. We should enter the property." Cho pulled his gun from his holster. "It isn't closed off. There no forced entry on our part."

"Something isn't right here." Lisbon examined the fence closer. "The posts and the links are all facing outward. The direction of the grass denotes that the truck was traveling outward."

"Boss, check that out." Cho pointed to a hole in the wall. "Kinda looks like Jane's suit jacket. Same color he was wearing last week."

Lisbon pulled the phone from her pocket and dialed Van Pelt. "Grace can you get a fix on my location. There's a fenced off shed, I want to know who owns it. There shouldn't be one here? It's on state property? Great. Tell Hightower I need another team out here to this position."

Cho dragged a barrel to the opening, climbed up and peered inside. He waited for Lisbon to hang up the phone before he spoke. "Looks like a meth lab. There's a bunch of broken crates and white powder all over the place. I can see Jane's vest and a few more articles of clothing on the ground. There's also what looks to be blood on the opening."

"Are you sure it's Jane's jacket?"

Cho pulled the suit jack from the opening then jumped off the barrel. He checked the pockets. The inner jacket pocket held Jane's wallet. "It's Jane's. We going in?"

"No, all the evidence leads out. I think the old guy is a little confused. We're going to follow the tire treads. They're not in there are they?"

"No."

"We'll have another team look into it. It's on state property. We have jurisdiction. Let's go that way." She pointed to the hole in the fence. "We're close I can feel it."

* * *

><p>"It was meth."<p>

"Really? Why do you say that?" Rigsby asked.

"Accessibility."

"By your theory, and I'm not saying that I've done either, marijuana is as easily accessible."

"Hmm... Say that one more time." Jane stopped to face him.

"No."

"Come on. I wasn't watching. I was looking at the jonquil colored flowers that turn into a gradient of saffron."

"What?"

"The yellow flowers."

"Why can't you just say yellow?"

"I did. You were going to say it one more time."

"No."

"Fine. My new theory is that it's both."

"What? No. It's neither."

"Remember believe the lie." Jane laughed out loud. "I know you've tried one of them. You ducked your head slightly again..."

"Why are we discussing this?" Rigsby growled. "I really don't want to talk about it."

"Sure you do. I went with meth, and I could be wrong, because it was already in house. There were several drug convictions in your father's record."

"Can we not talk about my father and concentrate on getting out of here."

"It's okay my father has a few convictions himself. Fraud and theft charges on him. Learned a lot from him."

"I'll bet."

"We are our father's sons."

"I'm not anything like him."

"Neither am I. Struck a nerve there. Sorry." Jane changed the subject. "Boy, it's hot out here. I bet I'm pretty burnt."

"Yes, yes you are..." Rigsby mumbled, then spoke up again. "You're beet red, like a cooked lobster."

"Hey look, Amaranth. We can eat its leaves as vegetables," Jane strayed.

"I'll pass. Come on. We don't know if Troy is behind us. We need to move quickly and get to the main road." Rigsby looked around as he decided which path they should take. "That is we need to find the main road."

"Amaranth is a shade of red by the way."

Jane continued to walk, but he focused on the red flowers. He tripped over an overgrown root and used his hands to break his fall.

"Jane?" Rigsby called from a few feet ahead. " You okay? You need to watch where you're going."

"I'm alright..." Jane stared down at his hands. One hand was bleeding pretty badly and the other was covered in red clay and dirt. "Red..."

He was caught red handed.

The roller coaster in his mind shifted to more sinister thoughts. Red. The color of guilt.

Jane looked up again and everything had a tint of crimson to it. Even the once shamrock and mantis colored leaves held a tint of crimson.

Red. The color of destruction, mourning and death.

"Jane." Rigsby looked back. His colleague was stopped in his tracks, fixated. "Jane, We don't have time for this.

Red. The color of anger and pain. Scarlet to denote sin. It was their blood on his hands.

"We have to go. Troy and Humpty could be right behind us..."

Carmine, the color of the now dry calling card that the devil left for him, left laughing at him.

"Jane come on," Rigsby grabbed his arm. "Are you okay? Jane?"

"Don't touch me!" Jane screamed.

"Jane." Rigsby grabbed him by the shoulder. "It's me Rigsby."

"Get off me," the consultant tried to pull away.

"Jane. Calm down. It's the drugs doing it to you." Rigsby held his ground.

Blue. Rigsby's iris were ice blue. Jane's mind focused on them. They held a hidden sadness in them. He was hurt by people he loved and trusted. Jane knew this, read it in a file.

"Look at me. You're all right. Look at me," Rigsby tried to soothe.

Blue. They also held an optimism and the strength to keep going. The roller coaster in his mind shifted to happier memories earlier in the day. When those eyes held a happy sparkle as he was a rock star to the audience of two.

"Jane? It's alright."

Blue. Clear skies, happier times.

"Let's go." Rigsby told him in a calm even tone. "We'll get out of this. It's fine. I got you. I won't let anything happen."

Jane said nothing, but followed closely behind Rigsby through the brush.

"We were near Mt. Diablo. There's got to be a ranger station or something around here. A hiker with a phone, though I don't want to get anyone else-"

Pieces of tree bark went flying towards them as the adjacent red wood's bark exploded. Rigsby instinctively pushed Jane and himself to the ground as another buckshot flew past.

"Don't move." Humpty scurried towards them. He stood over them with the shotgun cocked, ready to fire.

"Hey Wayne, who's your friend?" Troy grinned.

"Damn..."

"Not gonna answer?"

"We work together," Rigsby said.

"We need to chat."

"You could have just called."

"I'm a more face to face guy," Troy told him. "Toss them both into the van. We need to chat about Leland."

"Uncle Lee?" Rigsby helped Jane up and led him to the Sprinter. "He's been dead for years."

"I've got some info saying he isn't." Troy reached into the front seat and pulled out a manilla envelope and tossed it to Rigsby. "That's pretty good for a dead guy."

Rigsby opened the envelope and looked at the photos inside. They were snapshots of an older man, hair graying at the sides, but they looked a lot like an older version of his dead uncle. The uncle who he thought was killed when he was sixteen.

"Nothing to say Wayne?"

"I don't know?" Rigsby shrugged. "It's Photoshop?"

* * *

><p><strong>TBC<strong>


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer- They are like little action figures I do not own, but have the incisive need to play with. CBS owns them. Mr. Heller made them. No money is, was, or ever will be made from this.**

**[Chapter 9]**

* * *

><p>They followed the path downward going about five miles an hour. A feeling of dread engulfed Lisbon. They could barely steer though the dense path. She half expected to find the truck wrapped around a tree and chastised herself for thinking so negatively. They were fine. She would find them, and they would be fine.<p>

Cho stopped the car in a clearing, a few yards from a white pickup truck. The truck was empty.

"Dammit." Lisbon pounded the hood of the truck.

"Easy boss. We'll find them."

"I know. It just gets so frustrating."

"Yeah. We're just one step behind the whole time..."

"I think I'm going to smack the next person to say 'that was quick' to us."

Cho nodded. "Boss, there's some blood on the wheel not enough to denote severe injury and an evidence bag on the floor. It's one of ours." Cho showed her the imprinted logos. "Powdery substance. Looks like meth."

"I've got tire tracks here," Lisbon said a few yards away. "They don't match the pickup. The tire imprint is larger. Could be our van."

"I'll call another team with CSI's to process this." Cho pulled out his phone. "I've got foot prints here. Two different sets looks like they headed in this direction, could be Rigsby and Jane."

Lisbon stared at both paths.

"Which should we follow?" Cho asked. "Should we split up?"

They heard two shots ring out in the distance.

* * *

><p>Rigsby glared at the man holding a Smith and Wesson on him.<p>

They always painted an idyllic picture of what life should be on the sitcoms he watched when he was younger. Young Wayne knew his life, by that standard, was far from normal. He barely saw mother, who worked three jobs to get by, and his father terrified the other parents so much, that the kids his age were not allowed to play with him, leaving him with no friends.

He made the best of his situation, and played outside by himself, using his imagination to get by.

Wayne was five when met his first law enforcement agent. For most kids his age this would have been in school learning about safety. For Wayne, it was being scooped up by a riffled armed ATF agent in combat gear, as he played outside his Uncle Lee's residence. He watched from the passenger seat of the armored van as they stormed his house and took his uncle, dad, and two of their associates into custody.

He met Troy that same day. Troy's grandfather was picked up by law enforcement. They spent an afternoon bonding in interrogation, coloring on requisition forms, eating cookies, drinking milk, while the people responsible for their welfare were being booked and processed. They became friends.

The friend who was once his best, now held him at gun point.

"I'm kinda hurt. After all these years, this is how you treat me?" Troy asked.

"Friends don't kidnap friends at gun point."

"You still on that?"

Troy shoved Rigsby into the van hard. The agent crashed into the left over cargo boxes and out rolled a few bottle of hot soda and condiments.

"We grew up together, best friends," Troy told Humpty and Jane, "and this is how he is, dwelling on the past. Next thing you know you're gonna still be mad about the whole having you jumped thing..."

"You had bikers beat me up for not doing what you wanted. I told you I was done."

"See dwelling," Troy said. "Well? You didn't really answer my original question."

"Keep your hands where I can see them," Humpty warned from the last row of seats, where he kept the shotgun trained on Jane and Rigsby. The van normally had four rows of seat but the middle two were removed to accommodate cargo. "I will shoot blonde there."

"What do you want me to tell you?" Rigsby asked as he laced his fingers behind his head to placate Humpty. "My uncle's dead. He died in a car crash fifty seven days after my mother was killed."

"No, he isn't. I want to know where your uncle is."

"Cremated. His ashes in the wind. I have his death certificate in my house. We can go there and I can show it to you."

"It's a lie. My employer tells me to find him."

"Employer? He sent you on a goose chase. My uncle is dead."

"The photos."

"Fake. Photoshop."

"I have the negatives." Troy threw them at Rigsby.

"Fake. The old guy just looks like my uncle. Why do you want him any way?"

"I've got them from someone who said he joined witness protection. Your uncle's a damn snitch," Troy frowned. "We need to switch cars. This cops are looking for this one."

"How do you know?" Humpty asked.

"Police radio," Troy pulled a small device from his pocket, "was in the van."

Troy pulled over to the side of the road and opened the hood of the car. He waved his arms in the middle of the road and a blue Prius stopped.

"Having car trouble?" The owner asked.

"No, you are." Troy pulled his gun. "Get out."

"Easy. You can have it. I won't fight." The man started emptying his pockets, dropping his cellphone, change and wallet onto the ground. "Take it all. Please. Don't hurt me."

"Don't kill him!" Rigsby pleaded as Humpty pushed him out of the car.. "Just take the car. Leave him on the side of the road."

"Run," Troy pointed to the forest . "Run. If I see you in the next five minutes. I'm going to send my friend in there with the shotgun to shoot you. Do you understand?"

A few minutes later they drove off. Humpty and Rigsby sat in the backseat while, Jane sat in the passenger set. The ovoid man had the muzzle of the shotgun pressed against the passenger seat, guaranteeing that no one would try any anything stupid.

It was a short ride. They pulled up to a dilapidated, two story, the only house on the dead end street. Troy parked the car behind the house away from prying eyes.

Humpty motioned to Jane to sit down on an adjacent couch. The consultant complied and George kept his weapon trained on him.

"I'd never expect you to be come a cop," Troy said as he tied Rigsby to a chair with duct tape.

"I was an arson investigator first," Rigsby quipped. "The state agent thing was little later."

"You think you can change, but the apple doesn't fall far from the tree," Troy said.

"No, people change. You could have too, but this is the path you chose."

"I'm a product of my environment."

"That's bullshit and you know it. I made it out. You made your own decisions. You chose to stay in that life-"

"I'm not involved in this," Jane seethed from the couch. "You're messing up my plans."

Troy turned around and watch the once silent man turn red with anger.

Jane stood up fists balled, blood dripping from his injured hand as he continued his rant. "I only joined your agency to kill the murderer of my family."

The consultant charged Rigsby knocking him sideways. Wayne's shoulder slammed hard into the floor.

Jane flipped the chair so he was on his back and yelled, "your messing up my con. I will not die in this hell hole."

The consultant put the bloody hand down on his chest and reeled back, ready to swing with his good hand.

Humpty grabbed Jane by the arm and threw him back onto the couch. "Stay there."

Jane began to laugh hysterically, then stood up again and began to pacing. "I don't care about any of this. I was only giving him a lift so I can get friendlier with the group."

Rigsby stared at him in shock at that admission.

"I use to be a star. Sold out every night! Patrick Jane, world renown psychic."

"That why you looked so familiar to me." Humpty exclaimed. "I used to watch your on the cell block's TV."

"I use to be." Jane continued ranting. "I'm not going to die here."

"Sit down or I will shoot you," Troy warned.

"Fine." Jane sat down on the love seat with his arms crossed. "Just keep in me out of this."

"Looks like you're on your own again Wayne," Troy threw him a feral grin. His phone gave off a shrill ring and he reached into his pocket to answer it. "What? No. Calm down. I'll go check it out. Yes sir. I will check it out myself."

Troy clutched the phone so hard piece of the bezel cracked. Everything was coming apart. His current employer was now pissed at him and the promise of getting out of the country with some scratch began to slip away. He would not go back to prison. All he had to do was one thing. One thing. Find Leland Mathers, his former best friend's uncle.

"Lock them in the basement and this time watch them," Troy warned Humpty. "You don't want to wind up like Jimmy."

"What happen to Jimmy?" Jane asked.

"He should have wore his seat belt." Troy answered. "I'll be back in a bit. Looks like his friends found the stash."

Troy threw out a warning as he headed for the door. "Don't screw it up like last time. Remember what happens when you screw up."

"Go." He motioned for Jane to head down the basement stairs. Once downstairs Humpty locked the door.

A few minutes later the door reopened. Humpty flung Rigsby down the steps, still tied to the chair.

* * *

><p><strong>TBC<strong>


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer- They are like little action figures I do not own, but have the incisive need to play with. CBS owns them. Mr. Heller made them. No money is, was, or ever will be made from this.**

**[Chapter 10]**

* * *

><p>"Rigsby!" Jane exclaimed in a hushed tone.<p>

Jane removed the tape that bound Rigsby to the chair. The agent groaned, his eyes still closed.

"Rigsby can you hear me?" Jane undid the rest of the tape and flung the chair into the corner. He left the bigger man laying flat on the floor. "Hey you still with me?"

"Oww..."

"Open your eyes."

Rigsby opened one eye and when his vision finally came back into focus he saw Jane hovering over him, a worried look on his face.

"You okay?"

"Owww..." He tried to sit up but every way he moved hurt. Rigsby decided that staying on the ground was good at least for the next few minutes. "If you're going to punch, tackle or scream on how I ruined your plans, it can it wait a few minutes. At this moment, I really don't care."

"You've ruined it!" Jane yelled at the top of his lungs. He grabbed the chair and headed towards Rigsby.

Rigsby forced himself up and scurried away from the consultant with his arms up ready to defend himself. He wished he didn't do that. The world spun, and he grunted in pain.

"Easy there. Watch out," Jane whispered.

Rigsby ducked, placing his arms over his head as Jane flung the chair. It flew no where near him and sailed against the heavy wooden door, shattering into a few pieces.

"Hey blondie, don't kill him, or I will kill you," Humpty yelled through the door.

"Fine! I won't kill him," the consultant yelled back. Jane then continued in a quiet tone"Are you okay? Did falling down the stairs make your concussion worse? Your head is bleeding. How many fingers am I holding up? Are you hurt? Well, more hurt?"

Rigsby looked at him from the corner he backed himself into, confused. "You're not going to hit me?"

"No. Sorry for that whole thing upstairs. I got blood on you." Jane pointed to the hand print on Rigsby's undershirt.

Rigsby continued to stare at Jane, unsure exactly what happened.

Jane ripped a piece of his shirt off and bandaged his hand and flexed it a little making sure it would hold.

"What happen between you two? I'm getting that your uncle isn't the only reason Troy's is here," Jane asked.

"I really don't want to get into that," Rigsby eyed him cautiously. "You're not going to hit me are you?"

"No. I tried this plan once when I got kidnapped with Lisbon. It didn't work quite right, but I wanted to see if it would work here."

"That's not very comforting."

"Humpty's not that bright. He's wavering a bit. I'm betting they met in jail and he owes Troy for something, he doesn't really want to be a part of this." Jane shrugged. "What did you do to Troy? He's very angry, and I don't think it has anything to do with your uncle."

"Stop interrogating me," Rigsby began a mental check of his injuries. Nothing felt broken, he just felt bruise and battered. His wrist and fingers on his left hand hurt but he could still move it, probably sprained. He rolled his shoulders. They hurt, but didn't feel dislocated. His legs worked fine, when he moved away from Jane.

"It isn't an interrogation, my intention is not to make you feel like a suspect. I'm just trying to figure out what's going on here, then find a way out of it. "

"Still feeling the effects of the drugs?" Rigsby asked trying to change the subject. Rigsby took a deep breath. One of his ribs felt cracked. The chair slid most of the way down the steps on its back. Rigsby tried his best to ride it out and keep his head from smacking the steps. He knew from experience that it could have been a lot worse.

"Yeah, somewhat. I now can tell I'm rambling and my thoughts are still jumping from thought to though but not as quick. I think I can keep up with them now, well mostly," Jane said. "You have some unresolved, repressed, issues with your past..."

"Don't we all."

"Putting them out in the open might help. Troy also thinks you have the information he needs."

"I don't know what he's talking about."

"I think you do."

"No clue." Rigsby wiggled his left molar with his tongue. He was loose and he sighed. "You've never has an issue in your past that you wanted to keep hidden?"

"Plenty, but none of them are an issue at this juncture."

"And you probably wouldn't volunteer any information either. "

"Probably not. I get it. I really do. No one likes it when their skeleton come falling out of the closet. To add to the fact that this is a stressful situation, being pushed down the steps, and all you've eaten today is a donut, which makes you cranky..."

"I'm not cranky."

"You are. Yell, like I hit you."

"What?"

"Yell like I hit you," Jane repeated. "Take that! I'm going to tell Lisbon you fought bravely against our captors."

"No...? Uh don't?" Rigsby yelled.

"Yell like you mean it," Jane shook his head. "I'd be cranky if someone shoved me into a trunk. I'm kind of cranky. I'm tired. My hand hurts. I'm really thirsty. I have a splinter in my finger, and other things. You're still buying the ice teas and ice creams later."

Rigsby shook his head.

"Don't renege on our bet. It's only about four, five o'clock or so. I still have plenty of time before sunrise."

"At this point I need something a little stronger than that."

"Long Island ice tea then? A nice cup of Lapsan Souchong. Michener once wrote it '...better than whiskey.'"

"I'd settle for a glass of ice water, some aspirin and a nap," Rigsby said. "I don't want to get you involved in this."

"It's too late, I'm already involved."

"Sorry about that."

"It isn't your fault. It's just the way things went. Roll of the dice, flip of the coin and all that. Would it help if I promise not to tell anyone else?" Jane picked up the leg of the chair and launched it against the adjacent wall.

"You promise?" Rigsby looked at him skeptically.

"What? I can use discretion."

"Right. You promise."

"Not a soul."

"Yeah."

"I just need a bit more information. I can get us out of this. I have a plan in motion." Jane picked up the chair's arm rest and flung it towards the door. It veered wide and hit the concrete floor with a thud. He then headed towards one of the windows that lined the basement. They were too small to escape through, and stared out them before continuing. "I'm just missing a bit of the picture. Do you have an ideas out of this? I'm all ears. "

"We can always jump Humpty and make a run for it."

"Okay, do you have a plan that won't get us shot?" Jane looked back towards Rigsby.

Rigsby shook his head no.

"What did Troy mean by, 'You think you can change, but the apple doesn't fall far from the tree.'"

"We're not talking about that."

"Work with me here. Remember trying not to get shot."

Rigsby nodded. He didn't want to tell Jane about this, but he did seem to have a knack for getting himself out of trouble. He also had a knack for causing the trouble in the first place. Their options were running thin and they needed out. Plus he wanted to see what Jane had in mind.

"All right, fine." Rigsby ran a hand through this hair. "When I was younger, I use to sell drugs."

"Okay and...?"

"What no criticism? No exclamations of shock."

"No. It's not my place to judge," Jane nonchalantly answered. "I'm not surprised given your upbringing. Mother wasn't there. Abusive father. The Iron Gods. You did it for acceptance. I'm going to venture to say you were young when you fired your first gun? Stole your first car?"

"I was eight."

"For which?"

"Both. Stole my father's gun and was shooting cans in the yard. My shoulder and arms hurt more from the recoil, than the beating me for taking my dad's gun. Well, he hit me hard enough to knock me out. I don't remember, woke up on the kitchen floor. I stole my Uncle Lee's car a week later in an attempt to run away. He caught me down the block. I couldn't quite reach the pedals almost smashed into a tree."

"When I was young I would hustle people out of their money in a traveling carnival, and Cho was in a gang. We've all done things in the past."

"Carnival act? Oh, I thought it was all TV."

"No, started in carnival. Boy wonder," Jane shared. "Why did you stop?"

"I came to a crossroad. I was a kid, and I hate to admit it, was kinda fun. It got me money I never had, money we needed."

"I know that feeling," Jane mused. "Mad scientist?"

"Grand chef. I've always liked cooking, been doing it since I was seven. Had to feed myself somehow," Rigsby shrugged. "Mom tried, she really did. When I was younger dad would take me to peoples houses. Learned by watching and asking random questions. I was always better at watching and doing, than reading on how to do things. I remember sitting in the kitchen when I was little while my dad cooked it."

"It was meth."

"I cooked it. Dad sold it when he wasn't on the road. Troy sold it. My mom didn't have to work the three crappy jobs she was working just to pay the rent and put food on the table cause Dad was no help. Whatever money he had went to liquor and various vices, and for once I wasn't a self righteous little bastard..."

"Yeah, I understand..." Jane nodded.

Rigsby stared down at the floor, continuing his story. "Everyone thought he cooked it. People would tell him that it was good, and he was so proud of me. He gave me a cut, I don't know what he did with the rest. I spent some of it, but gave most of it to my mom, thought it was from odd jobs. Some days I would just stick it in her purse or the tip jar at the biker bar. She worked those jobs for little pay, and at the bar they treated her like meat. Only four people knew it was me cooking it up. My dad, Troy, Uncle Lee, and my mom. She was pissed when she found out. The look on her face, I think I hurt her more with that than anything my dad did to us..."

"It was meth, and you cooked it." Jane picked up the back of the chair, flung it to the floor then went back to staring out the window.

"I didn't like the way it felt. The first rush was cool and all, but after that..." Rigsby sighed. "I didn't think I was hurting anyone. Mom took me to a drug treatment center and showed me the aftermath of what I was doing and made me promise not to do it anymore. That led to one of the worse fights I've ever seen them have. I remember getting between them trying to stop it, and nothing else. Woke up in the emergency room with my mom telling me I walked into a door. I was apparently pretty clumsy when I was younger."

"How long were you doing it?"

"A year or so. I claimed the money was from mowing lawns, cleaning gutters, helping old ladies. Was doing that too on top of cooking it. Troy was selling it on the side. He was not happy when I stopped. Kept trying to convince me to go back to doing it. Even told me he knew people who could move it on a bigger scale. They just wanted us to cook it. We had a falling out, and we stopped speaking. Last I heard, he was dealing and supplying, got caught and was doing eight to ten."

"Hmmm," Jane nodded.

"Was any of that helpful to your plan?"

"Yes."

"What's the plan? Going to convince him your psychic and get us out of this."

"Something like that."

"So, how do we get out of this?"

"Like this." Jane turned back around with a cellphone in his hand.

"Where did you get that? You had that the whole time? What the hell?" Rigsby fumed.

"Yell louder," Jane motioned for him to project his voice.

"What the hell!" Rigsby was now pissed.

"Like that, now your getting it. I got it from Humpty's pocket when he pulled me off you. You're okay. Your whole story was coherent and your memory's fine. Can you stand?"

"Why didn't you use it sooner?" Rigsby forced himself up. It was a bit of an effort, he pitched forward, but caught himself before he fell. "Why did I have to tell you all that?"

"I was waiting for Troy to drive off, then I was trying to get service. Plus you needed to get that off your chest."

"No, I really didn't. Besides Troy drove off a minutes ago."

"And your story took a few minutes. Do you feel better?"

"No, right now I'm hot, annoyed, and angry."

"I'd call you cranky."

"Just use the damn phone."

"Easy there," Jane teased. "Humpty is upstairs. He was by himself in his car. No, yes I got a bar. Do you want to call? Should we call Van Pelt or Lisbon."

"Just get on with it!" Rigsby picked up the arm of the chair, ready to use it as a weapon if he needed to.

"See like that," Jane grinned. "Now your selling it. Hey Grace, you're still in the office right? Can you trace this phone call?"

"Jane, just tell her where we are."

"Rigsby's cranky and the mildew in the basement is horrible..."

"Jane."

"We're in the basement of a house just outside of Grayson. The man who kidnapped us is named Troy..."

"Hillard."

"Troy Hillard. Oh."

"What is she saying."

"She knew that all ready," Jane told Rigsby, then continued his conversation. "Good. She said they got the Marshals, CHP and Agents looking for us. Why the Marshals? Okay."

"What?"

"They've been a step or two behind us the whole time and Lisbon and Cho are fairly close."

"Great. Then we can finally get the hell-"

The door unlatched. In came Humpty with the shotgun. He took aim towards Jane and fired.

* * *

><p><strong>TBC<strong>


	11. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer- They are like little action figures I do not own, but have the incisive need to play with. CBS owns them. Mr. Heller made them. No money is, was, or ever will be made from this.**

**[Chapter 11]**

* * *

><p>George descended the steps. Something felt off. His captives' conversations seemed weird, stilted, almost rehearsed. He stopped a moment and listened, trying to figure out what they were saying. They were talking to someone else.<p>

George quickly patted his pockets. His cursed to himself.

Troy was going to kill him.

Blondie said it right to their face, that he was a con man, and he was taken in by his act. To make it worse, he took his phone and his wallet.

They only need one hostage. He pumped the Mossburg and continued down the steps.

* * *

><p>"Great. Then we can finally get the hell-"<p>

He heard the door unlatch, and gripped the arm of the chair tighter. Rigsby took a step back, into the door's blind spot, ready to get the jump on Humpty as he took a few steps in.

The first thing Rigsby saw was the barrel of the shotgun.

"Jane, move!" His instincts kicked in. Rigsby threw his full weight into the heavy oak door. He saw the muzzle flash and hoped Jane got out of the way.

Humpty's aim was askew, the barrel flew to the left, but still hit its intended target.

"Jane!"

The consultant fell to the ground clutching his leg.

Humpty pushed the door open all the way and smacked the agent with the door. Rigsby grunted and fell to the ground, briefly dazed. The agent rolled, then threw his makeshift weapon at the ovoid man. Humpty snarled, and rubbed his cheek where it struck.

"Screw this..." Humpty cocked his weapon again and took aim towards Rigsby.

Rigsby scrambled up and lunged, making a grab for the weapon. They struggled for control as each man tugged for the shotgun.

Wayne put all this weight towards pulling the shotgun towards him. He changed direction and pushed towards Humpty. The egg shaped man was caught off guard from the sudden slack. George was momentarily dazed when his head made contact with the wall.

Rigsby yanked hard grabbing the butt of the gun, then kicked his captor in the knee cap. He threw an elbow into Humpty's gut, then threw a jab towards Humpty's head.

Rigsby yanked the gun. It flew out of their hands and skidded across the dusty floor.

They both made a break for it. Rigsby was ahead, but Humpty grabbed his shoulder, swung him around, and threw a right hook. Humpty bolted, but Rigsby tackled him from behind sending them both crashing downward.

Humpty fell awkwardly. His head hit the concrete with a thud.

Rigsby rolled him over, threw a left, a right, and another left into the egg shaped man's face, smashing cartilage and teeth.

Rigsby swiped the sweat of his brow, and carefully watched his captor. The man was unconscious. Rigsby hurried over to Jane to see if he was all right.

"You're right. We should have went with your plan," Jane hissed in pain. The consultant was bleeding badly from the thigh and arm.

"Damn..." Rigsby pulled his tank top off and tied it around Jane's thigh. The consultant grunted in pain and tried to pull away. "I'm applying pressure. Stop moving."

"How bad is it?"

"I don't know. I'm trying to slow the bleeding. Doesn't look too bad..."

"You're not lying to me, are you?"

"Did I duck my head?" Rigsby helped him to a sitting position.

"Don't make me laugh," Jane chuckled, then winced in pain.

"Do you think you can stand?"

"I don't know, give me a minute." Jane leaned his head against the drywall.

Rigsby walked over to where the shotgun slid. He picked up the weapon. It still had a few rounds in the chamber.

"What about Humpty?" Jane asked.

Rigsby walked over and kicked Humpty. "He's out."

"Do something for me."

"What?"

"Kick him again."

Rigsby indulged the consultant and kicked Humpty once more in the gut. The man didn't stir, and Rigsby didn't care.

"Is he dead?"

Rigsby reached down and felt for a pulse. It was still there but it was slow and thready. "No, but I don't think he's gonna get up anytime soon. We need to get out of here. We don't know where Troy went."

"Let's go. At least we're by the road." Jane tried to get himself to a standing position. After failing twice, he closed his eyes and took a short breath. "I don't want to be laying on the dusty floor while I bleed to death. I'm liable to catch something."

"Easy. You're going to be all right. You're not going to die in this hell hole."

Rigsby threw Jane's good arm around his shoulder and pulled the consultant vertical. They almost lost their balance, but managed to stagger to the door.

"You ducked your head when you said that. If I die here shoot Red John for me. Say he was resisting or something."

"I had to duck my head to get you up. You're not going to die. In a couple of days you'll be sitting on your couch annoy the crap out of me. I don't think I can toss you over my shoulder. Not today at least. I need you to bare at least some of the weight on your good leg."

He knew Jane should be laying still, but their situation was less than ideal. There was no cover in the basement, just a bunch of scattered junk. The staircase could be used as a choke point, but that left them cornered, with only one weapon between them.

"Don't let them serve me any lime jello," Jane said between pained breaths. "I want ice cream."

"I know the first ones on me, mint chip. We'll get out of this and I will buy you ice cream for a month."

"Make the first one a sundae."

"You're fine. You'll be eating cobbler in no time," Rigsby assured. "You'll be okay. And your going to catch Red John. Grace said Cho and Lisbon are close. Help is on the way. Do you still have the phone?"

"It was in my hand." Jane waved the injured hand at Rigsby.

"You know, I'm not even gonna stress it."

* * *

><p>The radio sat on the Prius' dashboard, its speaker crackled in and out as it picked up random police chatter as Troy sped down the road.<p>

"... 11-24... Sprinter... with caution..."

Living on the lam was taking it's toll. He'd been doing it for months and for once wanted to stop looking over his shoulder. Troy couldn't remember the last time he had a full nights sleep. Paranoia would creep in as he approached REM and he'd jolt awake, thinking the Marshals finally caught up.

Troy just wanted to leave the country.

He had no capital.

Conventional employment was out of the question, and his connections wanted little to do with him due to his fugitive status.

"... 11-54... unit Charlie 15 and Michael 15 responding... made contact with the missing parties... all units head south eastward... copy..."

The only option he saw out of this was to hand Rigsby over to his employer and let them work it out. There had to be some monetary compensation for that.

Troy whipped a u-turn and headed back to the house.

* * *

><p><strong>TBC<strong>


	12. Chapter 12

**Disclaimer- They are like little action figures I do not own, but have the incisive need to play with. CBS owns them. Mr. Heller made them. No money is, was, or ever will be made from this. **

**[Chapter 12]**

* * *

><p>"Have you ever been shot?"<p>

Rigsby supported most of Jane's weigh as they slowly hobbled their way though the house.

"Shot at? Yes. Physically shot no," Rigsby answered.

"I don't suggest it. Avoid it at all costs. It really hurts, and you wind up bleeding all over the place."

"I'll try and remember that."

"Your being sardonic."

"No, I'm cranky remember?"

"I'm glad you... you admit that," Jane said weakly.

"You okay? We need to stop? You're not going to pass out on me, are you?"

"No, don't stop. I want to get the hell out of here. Your sarcasm is a good distraction. It's better than your brooding."

"I don't brood."

"Okay... If you say so."

"When do I brood?"

"Whenever O'Laughlin shows up."

"I'm over her."

"Who mentioned a her?" Jane asked. "Or the fact that you still love her. Wait... Someone is here."

They were in the kitchen. Rigsby lowered Jane into a chair and raised his weapon. He crept through the living room and towards the foyer.

"Who is her?" Troy asked. He pulled a Sigma from his waist band and took aim towards Rigsby. "Give me the shotgun."

"No, drop your weapon."

"You don't have the balls," Troy dared.

"I'm not that little kid anymore. I will shoot you." Rigsby fired. The shot flew past Troy and the pellets lodged themselves into the cracked plaster behind him.

"You're a big bad cop now. I get you. You know its your fault I'm in this mess."

"My fault? The last I heard, you were dealing and were caught with 15 grams of pure. I didn't hand that to you."

"You were the one who started me on this path."

"Don't twist it. I never forced it on you." Rigsby backed up. If this turned into a fire fight, he needed to make sure he and Jane had cover. "I remember you talking me into making batches for you."

"You had no issue taking the money from me afterward. We were the same, for the money and good times," Troy said.

"No, we weren't. You bought beer, sneakers and weed. I used my cut for rent money, groceries, and bail. I used my cut so my mom didn't kill herself working three jobs."

"You drank and smoked just the same."

"I was young and stupid," Rigsby said, "and it's completely irrelevant now. Drop your weapon and surrender, or I will shoot you."

"Shoot. I'm not going back to prison. What will your friends and co-workers think of you when I tell them what you use to do."

Rigsby cocked the shotgun ready to take another shot. "Don't test me."

"Fine. You got me." Troy put his gun down on the stairs and back away. He took a few steps and put his hands up against the wall. "What now officer?"

"Walk," Rigsby motioned towards the living room. They stopped at the couch. "Empty your pockets."

Troy threw an extra clip, a pack of gum, some keys, his phone, and a hundred and twenty nine dollars and thirty seven cents down to the floor. He plopped down onto the couch and watched the agent carefully with his hands his lap. "What now?"

"Jane you okay?" Rigsby called out.

"Just peachy... Just looking at the pictures on the table," Jane said from the kitchen. "By the way, I knew it was both."

Rigsby took his eyes off of Troy for a second, trying to find something to bound the other man with.

Troy charged up and head butted Rigsby, then bolted for the steps.

Wayne was dazed. He fired a shot, missed completely, and hit the banister, sending wood splinters flying in several directions.

Hillard grabbed his weapon as he barreled up the steps . The convict turned and fired a couple of shots, then took cover in the bathroom.

Rigsby ducked behind the wall that separated the living room from the foyer. He needed to draw fire away from Jane and the kitchen.

"I don't believe you fell for that," Troy laughed from the second floor. He fired a few more shots, each one landing closer to Rigsby. "You're still so gullible. You were always soft."

"And you're still an asshole." Rigsby ran for the stairs. He saw the barrel of Troy's gun and slipped out onto the porch, taking cover behind an entry post. Troy fired again.

Rigsby checked the Mossburg. He had two shot left. He mentally rattled off the number of shots Troy fired from his Sigma series Smith and Wesson. Three going up the stairs. Three from upstairs. Two more out the door. Eight. He had the same gun when he was rookie. At most, the gun held fifteen shots, fourteen in the clip and one in the chamber.

Rigsby pivoted from his hiding spot and took off up the steps. He fired one shot into the bathroom door, then ducked into the master bedroom.

"You are such a bad shot. I swear, I don't know why you're even trying this," Rigsby goaded. "Remember Duck Hunt? You couldn't hit those ducks three feet from the tv screen."

Troy fired two more shots towards the bedroom. "Those ducks were fast!"

"Come on you can do better than that," Rigsby laughed. He stuck his head out the door and yelled, "how about my yard? Remember, when we were eight? It took you five shots to hit one bottle..."

"I told you the sun was in my eyes!" Troy growled. He fired two more shots.

"You were five feet away! All you had to do was point and shoot."

"You did something to that gun!"

"If you say so!" Rigsby yelled back. "What about paintball? Was the sun in your eyes that day too? If I remember correctly it was drizzling that day."

Troy fired again. And again.

Rigsby crept towards the bathroom.

The gun went click. Troy yelled in frustration.

Rigsby broke through the barrier between them. Two steps in, he was smacked in the face with the linen closet door.

Troy stepped out of the enclosed space and laughed. He was waiting for him. The convict punched him in the gut and grabbed for the shotgun.

Rigsby fought hard for this weapon and refused to let go. He couldn't draw the weapon in such close quarters. The bathroom was small, making it hard to maneuver. Wayne stomped on Troy's foot, then shoved him towards the sink. The agent reached for the medicine cabinet door, smashing it into the convicts face.

The mirror left little shards of glass embedded in his ear and cheek. Troy grunted in pain. He scrambled for anything within reach. He got his hands on the towel rack bar. He pulled it free and swung.

Rigsby blocked the bar with the barrel of the shotgun. He kicked Troy backwards and the convict stumbled into the bathtub.

Troy's head smacked the porcelain tiles. The shorter man rubbed his head, a bump was beginning to form. His eyes darted for anything he could use as a weapon. On the tub's sill sat a can of powdered bleach cleaner. He grabbed it and flung it towards Rigsby.

Rigsby shielded his eyes. The powder flew everywhere. Both men gagged, choked, and coughed as it entered their lungs.

Troy charged. They grappled as they exited the bathroom. Neither man wanted to concede.

They both knew who ever had control of the shotgun would be the winner. They hit the railing. The shotgun flew from both their hands and landed by the front door.

Adrenaline pushed though his veins, giving him a second wind. Troy was going on about something or other, but Rigsby's brain was tuning him out. Troy was always chatty, especially when he was all worked up. Rigsby only caught a word here and there.

Friendship. Owed. Money. Mexico.

Troy's presence was making him nostalgic. He hadn't thought about his uncle in years. Rigsby hated reminiscing, not since the life he knew was controlled by a crystal laced dust. Not since his father was sentenced to ten years for manslaughter when he was fourteen. Not since his mother was killed in a botched robbery at the job she hated. Not since his Uncle was killed in a car accident fifty seven days later. Not since he found himself alone in the world at sixteen.

Forward, and not back. Back couldn't be changed. He could only change the here and now.

Rigsby put his hands up as Troy charged again.

_'Dodge and counter.'_

He could hear his uncle give him advice as they sparred in the front yard, the older man trying to teach him how to defend himself. His dad never fist fight, but instead always carried a knife. Wayne knew he couldn't stab the neighborhood bullies that usually harassed him, though some days he was tempted.

_'Boy, pay attention! Watch the persons eyes, not their hands. Their eyes were tell you where they're going.'_

Troy swung for Rigsby's head.

Rigsby watched his eyes, anticipating the swing. Troy's cold brown eyes reflexively followed where he was going to make contact.

_'Aim for the soft spots, like the nose or the jaw. Never the forehead.'_

He grabbed Troy's a forearm mid swing and threw a quick jab, hitting him in the jaw.

Rigsby swung full force aiming for the other man's nose. At the last second Troy ducked.

Wayne's fist made contact with the convict's forehead.

He felt a finger break, maybe two. A knuckle pop out of position. Rigsby yelped in pain.

_'Be mindful of your surroundings.'_

Troy staggered dazed. He tackled Rigsby and they tumbled down the flight of stairs.

_'Be patient. Wait for your opportunity to strike...'_

Rigsby landed with Troy on top of him. He grabbed the man by the lapel and shoved him off.

The other man grabbed him by the hair and slammed his head into the hardwood floor.

Rigsby was dizzy, his vision faded in and out. A punch landed on his jaw. Another to his cheek. The adrenaline was wearing down.

_'Never lay down and surrender...'_

He balled his hand into a fist and took a blind swing. Rigsby lucked out. He caught Troy in the throat and threw the other man off of him.

Troy tumbled out the door, down the steps, and smacked into the mailbox further down the path. He wiggled a jagged post from the picket and charged towards Rigsby.

Wayne tried to shake off the spots that were swimming in his field of vision. The shotgun was within his reach. He grabbed the butt of the gun. Fumbled for the trigger. Took aim at the object charging towards him.

Then fired.

* * *

><p><strong>TBC<strong>

**Did I mention this was my first attempt at an action story? How am I doing?**

**Also, 'lucked out' means different thing depending where you are in the world. In the US it means you got lucky, but in the UK it means you are unlucky.**

**Yay idioms!**


	13. Chapter 13

**Disclaimer- They are like little action figures I do not own, but have the incisive need to play with. CBS owns them. Mr. Heller made them. No money is, was or ever will be made from this.  
><strong>

**[Chapter 13]**

* * *

><p>The evening sun beat down across his bare shoulders and back giving them a first degree burn as he sat on the porch with the shotgun still in his hands. He stared at the body and felt a twinge of guilt. Rigsby wondered if things would have been different if he never cooked that first batch. That is one of the biggest gambles he ever took in his life. Each batch of volatile chemicals he mixed, was a recipe for disaster, one miscalculation could have been catastrophic.<p>

In the end it did end catastrophically.

Troy laid in the grass staring up at the sky. The shotgun hit center mass. The 00 shell imbedded pellets into the man's neck, chest and heart.

Rigsby was lost in thought. He didn't notice first car to pull up to the scene, an Impala. Sloan and Davis hopped out of their car.

"Put the gun down! Get down on the ground!" The bulletproof vested Marshals approached through the front gate.

The second vehicle to the scene was a Tahoe.

"Don't shoot! He's CBI," Lisbon jumped out of the truck. "That's my agent. He's CBI. That's my agent!"

"There's Hillard." Sloan kicked Troy's stake away. He reached down to look for a pulse. "He's dead."

"Cho! Check the perimeter," Lisbon ordered.

Rigsby didn't look away from the body or acknowledge anyone's presence.

"Hey Rigs," Lisbon called as she walled up the path. "Rigsby!"

Rigsby mind snapped back to the here and now. He looked up. "Oh, hey boss. Sorry must have zoned out for a moment."

"Did he say anything to you? About why he kidnapped you?" Davis pointed to Troy's body. "Do you know who hired him?"

"Who are you?" Rigsby asked.

"Back off!" Lisbon warned. She didn't like Davis tone and they didn't seem too concern about her agent's welfare.

"I'm Sloan. He's Davis. Were with-" Sloan said.

"Marshal's service. Fugitive task," Cho cut him off and stepped into their path. There was something about them he didn't like. He glared a warning to back off. "It's all clear boss."

An ambulance pulled up, then another. Followed by three SUV's, a squad car, a fire truck, and an armored van.

"Rigs, I'm glad your okay," Lisbon put a hand on his arm. "Come on. We need to get you check out by the paramedics. Where's Jane?"

"Jane! He got shot. He's in the house," Rigsby exclaimed. He was about to stand but Lisbon grabbed his arm. "Boss?"

"Stay here and sit." She asked. Lisbon nodded to Cho. The other man leaned on the entry post keeping Rigsby company. "Is there anyone else in the house?"

"Yeah. There's Humpty, but he's unconscious in the basement," Rigsby informed her.

* * *

><p>She entered the abandoned house with Davis and a few deputies behind her. They swept each room.<p>

Lisbon bee lined for the kitchen and found Jane where Rigsby left him. He had his head down on the table, resting on one arm.

"Jane!"

"Hey Lisbon, sorry I missed the meeting, you wouldn't believe the day I'm having," Jane looked up towards her. He was sweating and a little pallid.

"I see that," Lisbon crouched to Jane's level. "Medic! I need help here. Where's that ambulance?"

"Where's Rigsby? Is he okay?"

"He's sitting on the porch with Cho."

"Oh good. I heard the shotgun blast, but no one answered me when I called. I would have gotten up but, well..."

"I need some help in here..." Lisbon yelled out.

"You wouldn't happen to have any ice cream on you would you? Rigsby's been talking about it all day and I really want a sundae."

"Jane, hang on. I'll get the paramedics."

"Wait."

Lisbon turned back when Jane grabbed her by the hem of her pants, slipping something into her pocket unnoticed.

"Jane? It's okay. I'll be right back I'm only going to the front door," she assured him. "Don't worry. I'll be right back."

Jane nodded. "I'll wait right here."

Davis looked down at the table and frowned. There were several pictures scatter on it. They were the ones that Troy showed to Rigsby.

"I think it's an interesting... resemblance, don't you think? The man has the same eye color.. jawline shares similar characteristics... a first cousin or uncle or something? Has the same color hair as his mother, but a little more gray, but my only point of reference for Rigsby's mother is an old photo in his wallet..." Jane said to Davis.

"You've been through some trauma, Mr.-"

"Jane. Patrick Jane. Yes... this day has been... traumatizing. I haven't had a cup of tea all day."

"What's going on?" Lisbon asked.

"Nothing. The man in the basement's dead," Davis said.

"All the kings horse and all the king's men..." Jane quipped.

"Over here." Lisbon waved the paramedics over.

The paramedics swooped in to do their thing, attaching tubes, masks, injecting needles applying bandages.

Davis scooped all the photos back into their manila envelope and stormed away.

* * *

><p>The scene was now buzzing with activity from law enforcement to paramedics.<p>

He stood up and dropped the shotgun down on the worn path. Rigsby walked past the body without a second glance, past all the law enforcement personal that scurried around the crime scene, past the crime scene tape, not caring that he snapped it in one angry swipe.

Rigsby climbed into Lisbon's SUV.

"Are you okay?" Cho asked. He reached though the driver's side window and stared the car. Lisbon had left the AC on when she shut off the car and the blast of cold air hit Rigsby.

"I'm fine. Thanks, " he gave him a tired smile, then leaned his head on the head rest. "I just need a moment."

"Boss said to take you to the hospital to get check out. She's going with Jane. He's going to be fine. Just lost a lot of blood."

"That's good to hear. I'm fine. Just a little banged up."

"She said it's an order." Cho climbed into the driver's seat. "Besides you look dehydrated, sunburn and your cradling you hand. We'll get a big gulp and something to eat after and you can tell me what happen."

"Thanks Cho."

"What are friends for?"

Rigsby reached over and turned the radio on.

He took a deep breath and sighed. The vibrations of the drums shook his seat, lulling him with a familiar rhythm. Each pluck of the bass wrapped him like a security blanket wicking the tension away. Each guitar riff played, drowned out events of the day. He immersed himself in the music, each beat was like his heartbeat, reminding him he was alive, blood pumping in his veins moving forward.

Forward. Never back.

Rigsby glanced out the window. The corner was loading the body into the van.

He was determined not to let the past pull him down, like it he'd seen it do to his father, uncle, and now childhood friend.

Cho climbed into the driver's seat.

Rigsby nodded. "Let's go."

* * *

><p>Jane sat in his hospital bed propped up by two pillows, a pen in his hand, and a Sudoku book sitting on the tray in front of him. His lunch also sat there, lime jello untouched.<p>

It was a few days later. The shotgun blast left several holes in him. None of the pellets hit anything major. It took surgery to remove them all, but it went without out a hitch and the doctors were happy with his progress.

There was a soft knock on the door and Rigsby poked his head in.

"Hey."

"Hey, come in. Sit."

"I'm sorry."

"For what? This is water under the bridge. I meant it when I said it wasn't you're fault. You didn't shoot me. You tried to stop it. I'd take the apology if you shot me," Jane said. "I also meant what I said in the basement. Mums the word."

"Really?"

"Did I duck my head?"

"Thanks Jane." Rigsby laughed. "I brought you something. I had to sneak it in my pocket. Apparently they don't want anyone bring outside food into the hospital rooms. It should still be fine."

"What is it?"

Rigsby pulled a paper bag out of his pocket and placed it on the tray.

"Mint chip sundae."

* * *

><p><strong>End<strong>

**Whoo hoo! I completed my very first action story. :D **

**First off, thank you to everyone who left a review, story alerted or added this story to their favorites. Those actions alone make me ecstatic :D**

**I'm going to end this part of the story here, because my brain has episodes, and this is the end of this episode. Jane and Rigsby got themselves un-kidnapped. There is a continuation to this, but I don't have a title. I do have the first chapter. It will will be posted when I name the story.**

**That was fun (and sometimes frustrating and aggravating). It was a learning experience. I've learned cliffies are fun (sorry, lol). I read through a lot of web pages on 'how to write action stories'. I also learned that I like writing banter between Rigsby and Jane, and might have to stick them together more often. I also learned that I can't see the typos anymore and that I really need a beta. Does anyone want a job?**

**I hope you enjoyed my interpretation of Rigsby's past. This whole story started with a random thought of "What if Jane got kidnapped and it wasn't his fault" and a plot of fifty words.**

**There were two completely different ending written for this. This one flowed better, but turned out more agnsty than I wanted. I wanted to write an non angsty story. Oh well..**

**I think the story turned out all right as a whole. I'm kinda mad at the flow on some of the chapters, but that's just me. And I missed some of the plot points I scribbled down, like giving O'Laughlin poison ivy, cause he fell face first into a bush, then down a hill, into some rocks. Couldn't make it work with the story.**

**Please read and review. No flames.**

**Thank you for reading!**


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